At The End Of All Things
by Caleigho Meer
Summary: Kaiba's diagnosis of a terminal illness causes him to reflect on his life.
1. Trembling

Kaiba-- 

Fading-

It was a rather humilating, silent ending, for such a dramatic life, Kaiba, thought idly, as his lips pulled back in the old gesture of scorn.  
His youth had been blazed away with his dramatic, phoenix-like surge of fire to the top, to the highest glass tower, to the pinnicle, where he could stare down with the cool regard of a god. For thirty-eight years, he had slaved and sweated, and guarded his riches like a dragon hording its gold. But, all of his riches could not buy him one more breath, one more day of life, one more time to make anything right. The diagnosis of the lung cancer had effectively brought the brute will that marked his days into tortured, unwilling submission. He may have been able to fight dragons with those eyes, stare defiantly at the world, and laugh, but when his own mortal flesh started to fail, he realized in the most humiliating way that he was with a shock, human.

His eyes strayed to the metalic gleam of the silver IV pole, and trailed down the slender tubing that was discretely hid by the sleeve of his business shirt. Yes, weak, sick, bed-ridden, and now, dying, Kaiba refused to submit the indignity of a hospital gown, and because of his wealth, he was fairly insulated from dying in a hospital room. Here, in his plush office, he was maintained by a trained nurse, and an on-call physcian.Oh, there were reminders of his impending demise. The wheel-chair when his legs failed him. The steadying stream of morphine to keep the pain in check. The pinched, weary surrender of Mokuba who had to bite back the rebuke that Kaiba was straining himself. Kaiba allowed himself a smile at the brief memory. Mokuba had grown into a tall, slender young man, with the same dark eyes and open curiosity. When Kaiba was diagnosed, Mokuba insisted on dropping out of the university to come home and care for his brother. Pride would have prevented Kaiba from admitting that he even needed the help, but Mokuba-so far-was the only one who was successful at navigating the complicated maze of Kaiba's changing mood swings, and what was left of his fiercely cherished independence. But, Mokuba was firm, and kind, and even now, there was nothing that Kaiba would refuse his little brother.

So, now, Kaiba was left, staring at the blinking light of his computer screen, the tension of unresolved questions surging through his veins, his mind feeling like a caged tiger in his trapped body, and his regrets kindly nagging at what was left of his lagging energy. With a grimace and supreme effort, he shrugged aside the trembling exhaustian that gripped his shaking hands and continued hammering out his last will and testament.

It was a grim task, an unpleasant one. But it was theraputic and soothing, to see that the years he had invested in KaibaCorp had manifested into fruition with the glittering sky-scrapers, the power, and the awe of his reputation. Mokuba would be set for life.

Kaiba smirked, wryly as he tapped out the last of his assets. He was leaving a sizable gift to Domino City Hospital,a major grant to research cancer.  
He had left a sizable scholarship for the children of his employers, bulked their retirement funds, and guaranteed their security for life, as well.  
He supposed it was the least he could do for all the times he made them wet their pants in fear when he so much as raised an eyebrow in disapproval. He allowed himself a brief chuckle. He may not even have the ability to rise and walk across the room without assistance, but he could still glower well enough to scour paint from a car door.

He recalled those first, bleeding days when he found out that he was terminally ill. The doctor had been so annoying kind and coddling, dancing around the central issue of how many months Kaiba had left. It took all of his strength he had not to beat the answer out of him, and it was only Mokuba's shaking hand fisted into his shirt that stopped him, with a wordless plea from those dark, beseeching eyes.

Kaiba sunk back into his chair, powerless. The doctor uncertainly offered a few options...chemotherapy, a transplant, medical treatment that Kaiba balked at, when he considered the insult to his dignity, his self control, and his fierce independence. Kaiba flatly refused them all when he astutely deduced that they were nothing more than delaying tactics, with folded arms, and a snarl.  
Mokuba attempted to reason with him, only to be presented with Kaiba's back as he strode out of the doctor's office in long strides, and a quivering sick feeling that rattled him to the core. Vulnerability.

He had blindly, instinctively marched to his car, slid himself in the front seat, with the intention of driving away, only to find himself staring in helpless paralysis at the steering wheel.

Mokuba was the one who found his big brother, slumped over in the seat, sobbing, and shaking, as if there was a war marching through his body.  
Blindly, Kaiba gripped him in the fierce embrace, the tears wetting his shoulder, as Mokuba said nothing but held him, as his own tears flowed.  
There were no words spoken. None needed to be. Then, as casually as usual, Kaiba abruptly dropped the embrace, ordered Mokuba to buckle his seat belt, and decide where they were going to eat dinner. Mokuba offered a quick suggestion, astonished at Kaiba's returning self control, but unwilling to embarrass him by discussing his breakdown a few moments before.

But that was six months ago. Even though Kaiba had insisted on both knowing exactly what was going on with his prognosis, and ignoring or defying it, the cancer was truly relentless. When Mokuba insisted on a hospice being consulted, Kaiba suprisingly let him. To see the thinning hair, the thinning body, the weary shadows that smeared those cerlian blue eyes was truly shocking. In the last few weeks, Kaiba had virtually coccooned himself away from the world, leaving his business decisions to be dictated by phone, or email, or to be carried out by Mokuba.  
It was obvious to even those who remained ignorant of his true illness that the dragon was losing his fire, to the point that not even Kaiba could ignore it, any more.

It was at Mokuba's insistance- again! that he spend more time with his younger sibling, and devote his time to "deal with things that are bigger than Kaiba corps."

It was another begrudging acknowledgment of his limited time-time that he was so used to funnelling into productive activity, producing results...something besides this forced waiting.

So, here Kaiba found himself. Dying before he left his thirties. Leaving a fierce reputation in his wake, a multi-billion dollar company, and a broken hearted younger brother who he would give it all up for to keep that misery from wounding his eyes so much.

He wasted little of his time acknowledging the luming end of his existance. Maybe it was beyond his limits, or his comfort to even ponder a world where he was not. But it hurt. And it made him so afraid.

-


	2. Brothers in Suffering

It was the scattering gold of the curled, dying leaves outside his window that woke him. He watched in detached curiosity as they clung so tenaciously to the branch, only to be snatched by the wind and flung away despite of it. He smiled in spite of himself, as he wrapped his ever thinning arms

around his chest, and stared curiously at the soaring arch of blue sky. Autumn had come to Domino City unseasonably warm, only a few degrees cooler than summer, and the air was pleasantly crisp. He grimaced in acknowledgement of the pain, indulged in a grunt, and carefully flicked the release mechanism that would soon release the morphine he now needed to even live

without hysterics of the bone-numbing sensation of the disease. His fierce pride refused to grant

acknowledgement of even its existance, but there was little he could do, and at this point, he saw

little point in suffering just for the hell of it.

His eyes swept over the dark, plush room, the gleaming computer monitor still blinking in expectant welcome, his dark leather chair perched and waiting for his body, once he called the nurse to move him...and his day's work still sitting neatly in the stack where he had left it last night. He would have been content to simply lay there and watch the leaves drift so languidly about the wind...to lose himself in their sweeping archs away, to wonder where they went, and how it might have felt to glide so freely.

But the nagging sense of duty, and the precious, rigorous schedule he purposely maintained were demanding mistresses that would not be sated. And his work was the only distraction that even allowed him to feel productive, or even human. It was simply not in him to admit weakness, no

matter how much Mokuba nagged, or how much his motherly nurse admonished him about

"not pushing himself." He would only respond with a sneer, or a smile, depending on his mood, and shrug off the concern.

He was startled out of his musings to hear a timid knock on the door, followed by Mokuba's soft

inquiry, "Seto? Can I come in?"

Seto hastily wrapped the velvet maroon robe over his narrow shoulders, ran fingers through his hair,

growled at how disheveled and wan he still looked, before he forced his spine to stiffen into its characteristic iron straightness. It was his only defense against appearing weak-the one thing he could not stand to show other people.

"Come in, Mokuba." His gruff command was softened by a smile as Mokuba came flying in, his dark eyes glimmering with mirth, and his wild black hair pulled back into a ragged pony tail. Seto

eyed the dark mass with a raised eyebrow, before gesturing rather pointedly to his own neatly coifed hair. As much as the Kaiba siblings loved each other, Seto could not, for the life of him, understand his brother's preference of shaggy, unkempt hair, hemp jewelry, or the jeans and long flannel shirts he wore.

Indeed, the younger Kaiba had changed a great deal from the familiar youngster that used to follow him everywhere. When Mokuba entered the teenage years, he shot up several inches taller, and his face had lost the babyish roundness to reveal the striking high cheekbones. He still had the same

dancing dark eyes, and the gruffly sweet voice, but he never lost his bright spirit, either.

Now, Mokuba swept about the room, in the manner of an aggitated bird, his dark eyes lighting with

anger at the glow of the computer screen, his merry mouth frowning with concern to notice the shadows and the dulled blue of his older brother's eyes. Mokuba gnawed on the inside of his cheek, debating to say something, or not. He knew that Seto loathed being nagged, and he was no longer sure if the exhaustion that seemed to permeate everything his brother did was something that could be helped.

"Good morning, Seto!" Mokuba forced the cheer as he carefully embraced his brother, mindful of how frail he had become. Seto stiffened, but allowed his arms to drop in a brief hug over his back, before carefully settling himself into the chair. "Good morning to you, too, Mokuba. I see you have

your usual cheer." He groused affectionately.

"Well, there's no point in deliberately being unhappy, is there?" came the smooth reply, as Mokuba

gazed out the window. "It's a bueatiful day out, Seto. Are you feeling up to going downstairs today?" Mokuba turned a beseeching gaze at Seto, who in turn gestured at the ever mounting

pile of paperwork waiting to be dealt with.

"Mokuba, I have work to do, you know that." Seto's voice was softly apologetic, as he winced in pain and shifted in discomfort.

Mokuba was at his side, instantly, careful hands draped over his bony shoulders, the concern and the love clear as he stared down at his brother. "Are you alright, Seto?"

Seto blanched from the pain, hissed in breath,as he hunched down and waited for the pain to fade into a tolerable level. Mokuba watched helplessly as he closed his eyes, and forced a trembling hand up to the IV to flood his veins with more morphine. "Seto!" Mokuba's tears unbiddingly shimmered from his eyes, as Seto sat back, his teeth bared in a defiant snarl, his eyes glaring

at the tubing. "Damn this stupid device! As much as I pay for the stupid machine, you would think the thing would work!"

"Seto! If you're in pain, do you want me to call the nurse in here? I don't want you to be in pain-"

"Mokuba." Seto whispered his name barely above a breath, as he gazed up at his brother with anguish. "I am sorry, Mokuba, that you have to see me like this, and you know how much I hate to admit this...but there is nothing to be done about the pain. I am dying of cancer, Mokuba. Pain is to be expected, however well controlled it may be. And you needn't concern yourself about things

that cannot be changed...especially with this. Now, promise me you'll stop the damn worrying, and try not to wet yourself each time I blink too loudly, is that clear?"

Seto forced a smile, as he ruffled Mokuba's hair in a familiar gesture of comfort. Mokuba snorted back a tear, as he stared down at his brother, whose face was now pinched with pain, no matter how fierce the denial. "I'll try, Seto. But I don't know if I can."

Seto's cold hand gripped his own, the blue eyes burning with intense command, and sorrow.

"You'll have to."

Mokuba whimpered, but did not cry. "I know, Seto. I know. But not yet...not today."

Seto smirked, considered him gently, as he nodded. "No, Mokuba. Not today. The morphine is finally working its magic." Seto said wryly, as his eyes strayed to the tubing. Mokuba felt his body

uncoil itself as Seto lost that restrained, pinched look, and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"I'm glad." Mokuba whispered, softly, as he squeezed Seto's shoulder, with a smile.

Seto clenched his hand over Mokuba's for a brief moment, before he pointedly removed the hand, and steered his little brother towards the door. "Mokuba, I need to get to my work. You know that."

Mokuba glared at the pile of papers that Seto had turned towards, as Seto resolutely seated himself with finality.

Mokuba sighed in surrender. "Fine, Seto, however you want it. But, I will be back, and you are going to join me for lunch. No arguments, either!"

Seto gave his brother a tolerant smile. "Lunch it is, then. But a brief one. Be back here at noon. Will that work?"

Mokuba nodded, silently, as he hesitated before exiting. "Seto?" Seto turned to him with a raised eyebrow in question.

"I love you. You know that, right?" If Mokuba didn't know his brother any better, he would have sworn there were tears rising in the brilliant, cold eyes. Seto nodded, slowly.

"I never doubted that, Mokuba. And it means more to me than I will ever admit. Now, please...let me get back to work." Mokuba closed the door, with silence, making sure that he was far enough away that there was no way for Seto to see his tears.


	3. The Grace of Scars

The Grace of Scars-

It is the dark pain of a scar, that graces the frail skin-

Marked by the healing of a wound now old

A penance of Christ for my sin-

Heaven's story may yet be told-

To find the grace deep within-

To admit my frail passage away from this familiar mortal coil-

To loosen my grip from this skin-

My hands crumpling from the toil-

My defenses falling in-

To halt the dying of my fleeing days-

To cup an hour of time-

In these shaking hands-

Will not yield me the grace-

Of all that is divine-

Hielo Warrenbeck

Yami made his relunctant way down the stone path to the majestic oak door of the mansion, feeling small and intimidated by the overwhelming structure. The guards had

admitted him only when Mokuba personally appeared at the mechanical gates to give permission for the Pharoah to allowed to enter. Seto's front court yard was engulfed in the shadows of the towering oak trees that spread out, the lush, manicured grass still neatly trimmed despite the threat of autumn's chill. Seto must have employed an army of gardeners, mused Yami. He marveled to see that there was not one stray leaf to adorn the huge yard, and it made the whole place look neatly unnatural. Yami allowed a brief smirk. Leave it to Seto to even dictate that not even a leaf would fall without his permission.

Yami curled his lip in distainful uncertainty, not exactly sure how or why he was here. He was not in the mood to match wits with Seto's scorn, or feel himself burning under the weight of those scathing eyes of ice.

It was Yugi's sorrowful eyes full of a beseeching plea, and a gently begging question that had twisted his heart into knots and somehow roused both his pity and his sense of obligation to agree to this meeting with Seto. Yami knew that Mokuba and Yugi had remained on friendly terms after all the duels.Even Seto had treated them with polite acknowledgment, which unnerved Yami far more than the usual dishing out of sarcasm and dismissal. Mokuba had phoned the Moto household early that morning,

and Yugi had answered. Whatever conversation had transpired between them, Yami did not know, but from the blanched, sickly look on Yugi's face, as he hung up the phone, and the terrible shaking in his hands as he grabbed Yami's arm and forced him him to sit on the couch...something horrible had happened.

"Yami?" Yugi had whispered, almost fearfully, his hands digging into his sleeves, unnoticed and independent of his will, "I have a favor to ask you. I need you to do something for me." Yami, of course, upon seeing how distraught he was, agreed instantly to whatever request would take that wrenched look away from those eyes.

So, here he was. Mokuba sent a limo to the Game shop, and Yami had relunctantly seated himself in the back, facing Mokuba. Yami cringed at the bloated opulance of the velvet interior, politely refused Mokuba's offer of a drink, and a snack, only asking in bewildered frankness why on earth Kaiba had summoned him for a personal visit.

Mokuba had abruptly stopped his space-filling chatter, the cheery mask fell away, and Yami saw the exhausted pain make itself clear as he slumped.

"You know that my brother has been ill for a while, right?" Mokuba began by way of introduction. Yami raised an eyebrow. Yes, Seto had been reclusive, and he had heard the gossip, but he had always thought the CEO was never human enough to be touched by something as mundane as an illness. Mokuba fought to keep the disgust out of his voice when he saw that Yami seemed to be more intrigued than concerned by this information.

"I have heard rumors, but I never thought that Seto would ever succumb to an illness, Mokuba. It seems remarkably out of character for your brother."

Mokuba lurched forward with an uncharacteristic snarl, familial love rising to defend his sibling, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Seto never had a choice to be weak, Yami?! That the moment he ever showed any sort of failing that the world would be ready to bring him to his knees and gloat about it?! I would figure you of all people

would understand that sort of pain." Mokuba trailed off, bitterly, as he crossed his arms.

Yami had the grace to look very ashamed, as he lowered his head, twisted his lips in unease at this thought, and muttered, relunctantly. "I am sorry, Mokuba. That was thoughtless and cruel on my part."

Mokuba gave a forgiving nod, head turning to see the huge mansion sliding into view. "Yami? I wanted to warn you before you go see Seto. He's not been well for a while, but he's extremely sensitive about being sick. So he may be a bit...cranky. Don't let it fool you, though. Yami, he really needs to clear the air between you two. I don't know exactly what he wants to say to you, but, please don't coddle him. He hates that."

Yami's brow crinkled as his eyebrows disappeared beneith the drape of gold bangs. _Coddle_ Kaiba? He would rather attempt to kiss the Blue-Eyes White Dragon than

try that sort of madness. It would be much safer.

Mokuba smiled in understanding. "Yami, Seto's not a monster. He's just as human as you."

Yami grunted in amusement. "Considering that I am an undead Pharoah, Mokuba, I dare say that is not much of a bridge to build on, is it?"

The limo stopped, and Mokuba bounded out of the car door, in a scrambling pace towards the mansion, as Yami's door suddenly opened and he was left staring at the driver who stood with a proffered hand. Yami politely waved the man away as he slid himself out of the car, and gawked at the sheer size of the place.'

He heard Mokuba's urgent shout, saw the wave of his hand as he scampered towards the door, and relunctantly followed, slowly, watching in dismay as Mokuba disappeared, with a hasty apology, and a promise to return imediately.

So, Yami stood alone in the doorway, before garnering up the nerve to force himself forward. He was not sure what made his feet so slow, or why he had to fight the urge

to flee. It was disgusting to admit to himself he felt as if he were entering a tomb. Everything seemed to hint at darkness, from the huge hollow bang of that oak door closing behind him, to the cold bow of the butler who squinted down at him as if he were an insect. The chafe to his pride made him stand taller, curl his lip in an indignant

grunt, gave him strength to casually stroll forward, and be willingly led to the marble stairwell, that spiraled upward in a serpentine coil. Mokuba reappeared, and bellowed down from the top of the stairwell with a wave to urge him on, as he disappeared again into an unseen room.

His hollow footsteps against the marble stone made his boots feel even more out of place, as he lurched forward, uneasily. Finally, he reached the door, after the long climb upward, exhaling and staring down at the first floor far below. He wondered why somebody as rich and pampered as Kaiba didn't have the intelligence to install an elevator.

He could hear raised voices, Mokuba's higher pitch laced with pleading, and Seto's unmistakeable sarcasm, with its usual silken rasp, one breath away from a snarl.

He could not make out the muffled conversation, and he did not want to interupt what was clearly a brewing fight between the siblings. He heard Seto's low growl, angry, forbidding, and blunt, mixed with Mokuba's entreaty, and then, eerie, waiting silence. Footsteps, and then the door slowly sliding open, Mokuba's face emerging, his cheeks quaking with the restraint of holding back a sob, as he jerked his head forward, and stepped aside to permit entrance.

"Yami? Seto is ready to talk to you. Thanks for waiting." Mokuba offered a trembling smile that was clearly on the verge of shattering, as he gave Yami an apologetic look before slipping away.

Yami watched his retreat, wide-eyed, and stared at the door long after it shut. It was the disgusted sigh that drew his attention away. Yami narrowed his eyes, stiffened,

and rounded to face Kaiba, striding forward with crossed arms, and clearly itching for a battle.

The room was vast, and the lights dim, only softly lit by a single desk lamp, cranked so the light hit the computer screen, and little more. Yami heard the persistant tap

of hands typing, saw Seto's back hunched resolutely over the monitor, his head bowed and turned away in concentration.

"I suppose I should thank you for coming, if I knew that it was something besides desperate curiosity that dragged you all this way." Seto sneered without looking over his shoulder. Yami's confused scowl only deepened. There was something extremely amiss. Yami had never known of a single instance where the CEO did not fail to rise to meet anybody directly, with such a majestic swish of his lavish overcoats, and that irritating arrogance.

It was the glint of the lamp upon the metal of the wheel chair that made him gasp, and it was the hollowed, defiant, and tormented look that graced the icy eyes that made him swallow in terrible realization. Yami's jaw dropped when he saw the CEO trigger some hidden switch and the room was suddenly awash with the glow of the overhead

crystal-swathed chandelier. Seto rolled his chair around to the polished wood of the huge desk that put even more distance between him and Yami, as he turned the computer off, and lay both palms on the wood, as if bracing himself.

It was the arrogant tilt of his head, and the forbidding cross of his arms that irritated Yami, as he finally closed his mouth. Seto sat in the silence, one eyebrow raised in

consideration, as he waited for Yami to speak.

Yami, however, had not finished his inspection of Seto. It was clear that he was unwell, from the sharpness of his thinning cheeks, to the shadows that seemed to cling

under his eyes. There were lines of pain around his drawn mouth, his skin was pale and unclean looking, and his eyes held so much weariness and torment that even

Yami was moved to pity. But it was seeing Seto forced to stare _up _at him from his wheel chair that rendered him speechless.

"As you can plainly see, the rumors about my illness are not rumor but fact." Seto hurled the words at him with a sneer, as he rolled himself away from the desk, and forward to face Yami more closely. Yami instinctively took a step backwards, which made Seto flush with rage, and narrow his eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! What can I possibly do to you if I can't even walk, you ass?" Seto cocked his head, gave Yami a scathing glare, and rolled himself until

he could touch Yami's knees. "What is this? No answer from you?It's what you wanted, isn't it? To see me so weak and pathetic? It should make you happy!"

Yami's anger rose at the poke to his pride, as he ground out through clenched teeth, "You would flaunt your weakness to goad me to pity you?!" Seto blanched, turned pale, as his eyes flashed fire, and his clenched fist shot upwards in a winding arc towards Yami's jaw.

Yami felt the pain,cupped a shocked hand to his aching jaw, saw the CEO's smug satisfaction. After mulling it over for a brief second, Yami flopped to the floor in a dead-roll, that he hoped was convincing enough. Quivering, he rose to his feet, and glared down at Seto.

"May I ask why you felt the need to strike me, when I came here by your own asking, Kaiba?" The question was quietly curious, and remarkably detatched, as Seto

spat in a bitter retort, "Because you pity me, dammit! I can't stand seeing you staring down at me with so much sickening sympathy, and probably so many thoughts on

how you can console me. I hate that!"

Yami smirked with no mirth. "That is plain to see, Seto. But I would never degrade myself by pitying somebody who seeks to harm me. Nor would I dishonor somebody's suffering by gloating over their 'weakness'."

Seto was silent, as his lips curled in frustrating anguish and his fists clenched against the solid arms of the chair. Yami noted with alarm the tremble, but said nothing.

"I would offer you an apology, but that is completely out of character for me, and would only serve to make this even more embarassing for us both. If you left now, I wouldn't stop you." Seto murmured quietly, gesturing towards the door, but turning away.

Yami turned his head in consideration towards the door, and shook his head, slowly. "And if I left now, it would rob me of the chance to understand exactly what is going on, here and now."

Seto sighed, deeply, and flung a dismissing hand towards the leather chair closest to Yami. "Then you might as well take a seat. Wine?" Yami pursed his lips, and shook his head at the peace offering. "I do not drink, Seto. I haven't had a need for it for the past 5000 years."

Seto smiled, wryly. "Be that as it may, there are some issues that call for a good, solid drink on occasion. You will forgive my indulgence." Yami lowered himself into the chair. "Is this one of those occasions, Seto?"

The quiet question, infused with so many undertones made Kaiba stiffen with sudden misgiving. There was far too much perception in those thoughtful violet eyes for comfort, and far too much wary observation for Yami to miss any subtlty.

Kaiba proceeded to pour himself a liberal amount of wine, as he replaced the cork and slid the bottle back into the ice bucket, and Yami watched with interest as he took

a longer than necessary swallow from the glass.

Yami waited with so much irritating, condensending patience. "Seto?" His name was spoken with far too much considerate, infantile regard. "Why did you call me here?"

Seto motioned to him with one finger asking for a second, as he took another long swig from the glass, and set the half empty goblet down with a clink of finality.

"You died once, Yami. Let's just say that you could give me some much needed information about the little trip I'll be making shortly."

A minute muscle twitched in Yami's left cheek, as he stared at the CEO for a long moment, as if something hidious had been confirmed.

"So, it is true." The weary sadness that glimmered through his low voice made Seto cringe, not from revulsion, but from the strange sense of loss reflecting from Yami.

Seto clenched his fists, bowed his head, grit his teeth to steel himself for the next words that were so hard to push from his mouth. "Yes. It is true. I'm dying."

Yami jumped as he slammed a fist onto the wooden desk, the thunder of the smack filling the room, as he raised blazing eyes to Yami.

"But don't you dare pity me. I won't stand for it."

Yami shook his head. "And you should not stand for it. Seto...I won't attempt to force any sort of comfort upon you, or violate your boundaries if you can, for once in your life, drop this pretentious mask of pride and be honest with me..if not for my sake, then at least for yours."

Seto nodded, slowly, bowing his head. Yami cringed in sympathy, in spite of his spoken words. The CEO looked as if he were offering his head up to the executioner's ax.

"Thank you for that, Yami." Seto gave him a guarded, weary smile that was free of its usual scorn.


	4. Understanding

So..."Yami ventured, as he shifted in the leather and grimaced at the loud squeak, "What is KaibaCorp's latest invention?" Seto's head abruptly jerked up as his hands stilled. "I...have not been in much condition to work on new prototypes. Most of my time is spent tying up the lose ends and securing the company for Mokuba"  
Yami made a small sound of understanding. "You plan on leaving Mokuba the company, then?" Seto looked startled but grateful at the frank question.

"No." Yami looked up at him in suprise, as Seto waved a dismissing hand, and elaborated, "Mokuba has his heart set on a different path. He'd take over if I asked him to, but his heart isn't in it, and I don't want him shackled the way I have always been, Yami. He deserves better than that."

"But...you don't?" The soft question hung between them, so heavy and tormented in its implications. Seto slumped, the old familar exhaustion pouring through his torpid limbs as he braced them against the desk in a futile attempt to stop their tremoring. He sighed wearily, and looked up at Yami. Yami winced to see how old, and tired Seto looked, thin and haggard and still attempting to hide the true depth of how much suffering he was enduring right now.

"It doesn't matter what I deserve, Yami. It never has." The dull admission, coupled with the bowed head and the fingers templed beneith his sharp chin made Yami's gut clench in sharp, sudden comprehension.

" I understand." Yami whispered. Seto raised tired eyes, the ghost of a sickly grin playing about his lips, as he raised an eyebrow. "I thought you would. But, fate doesn't seem to give a damn of what's fair and right, does it?" Yami shrugged with sadness. "It certainly does not seem to. Or else why would this be happening to you?"

Seto heaved a broken sigh, settled himself back in the chair with a fatalistic twitch of his shoulders. "I don't know, Yami, and right now, I don't care. I don't keep the books on what's right. I don't think anybody on this side of the sky could do a good job of that, anyway."

"You believe in an afterlife, Seto?" Seto allowed a wry chuckle of amusement, as he leaned forward to stare at Yami. "You mean to tell me you don't?" Yami blushed at the irony, and retorted, "I am not in a position to dictate to other people what to believe, or not to. But, truth be told, yes, Seto, I believe in an afterlife. What a pathetic, sad commentary of this world if the brightness of the spirit is severed when they leave its confines. I could not imagine anything more fatalistic, or revolting."

Seto drummed his fingers against the desk, as he leaned back in his chair. "If you had told me that before this, I would have dismissed it without question. But, knowing that I'll be facing eternity a bit quicker than I envisioned, my perspective has been forcibly altered on the subject. Believe me, Yami, there is nothing that forces a clearer perspective than learning that you're not going to be around much longer to appreciate it."

Seto watched as Yami pondered the bright gleam of the light against the wood, his hands twisting in strange little knots in his coat. "Seto...are you afraid?"

Seto startled, and sent the Pharoah a hostile, warning glance. "Boundaries." He growled, as Yami timidly slank back into the leather with an apologetic hand raised.

"It scares the hell out of me, Yami. I'm not afraid of dying, but I live in terror at the thought of being a bed-ridden, dependent invalid. I fear Mokuba being forced to watch me die, and I fear being at the mercy of somebody else's choices. Who the hell wouldn't be a bit leery of their own death?" Seto muttered, glaring down at his shaking hands, as he quickly hid them under the desk.

Yami said nothing at the admission, but only crossed his arms over his chest, and pointedly ignored Seto's exhausted effort to maintain his normalacy. To openly acknowlege his weakness would be too cruel for his tastes.

"What do you plan on doing, then, Seto? Do you know how long-that is to say..." Yami trailed off, awkwardly with an embarrassed grimace, his mouth twisting, and the horrible, tactless question rudely lingering so unwanted.

Seto smirked at seeing his discomfort, and for a moment, the snide self-confidence emerged, as he retorted, "Yami, I am not God. I was given a rough 'guestimate"  
He wagged sarcastic fingers in a gesture of quotations, "from those damn doctors, for my expiration date. But, I don't know anything beyond the fact that my life is going to be over with much sooner than I thought it would be, and this has been a major conflict with the rest of my plans."

Yami raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You believe in God,now?" Seto's eyes narrowed, cooly, as he snorted. "I think that's between me and the Almighty, but, yes, I do. As I said, Yami. My perspective on things has been considerably altered since this whole debacle started. "

"I am suprised at your humble acknowledgement of a Being greater than yourself, Kaiba."

Seto's flinch to the sarcasm made Yami regret the remark as soon as the words flew out of his mouth. Seto scowled, and shook his head. "Oh, yes. Once again, my unbearable egotism suddenly raises its ugly head and turns this conversation into a direction that I honestly didn't want to go. Yami..."

Seto leaned forward, palms out, as he struggled to rise from the chair. Yami had to stop himself from offering a hand to help, knowing that it would be humiliating to Seto.  
"Did it ever occur to any of you that I was so distant and cold because I had to be? What would your reaction have been if I broke down into sobs like Yugi, or went off on one of those irritating as hell friendship rants like Tea?"

Seto settled himself back into the chair with a wince, before crossing his arms in sad finality, as Yami cringed at the bitter truth. "I would have wondered what was wrong with you."

"And?" Seto's irritated prompt cut deep, as he raised eyebrows in cool expectation. Yami shrugged, uncertainly, relunctantly.  
"Admit it, Yami. I seriously doubt that Yugi would be the type to mock me, but do you really expect me to believe that any of you would have come forward with any attempt to help me?"

Yami's fury was visible from the fire in his eyes, the clenched fists, the misdirected snarl as he rose to step towards the door. "And what exactly were any of us supposed to do, Kaiba?! Each attempt at friendship, or even common civility on our part was rebuffed with sarcastic refusal, or your typical scorn. How was I to know that you were hurt, Seto? You seemed so cold and distant most of the time, that we seriously wondered if you even had humanity in you!" At the last words, Seto lurched as if he had been stabbed, and Yami shut his mouth with an effort, not wanting to cause any more injury, but still quivering with anger over the exchange.

Seto gave a deep, sad sigh, and his chuckle was raw and without mirth. "Ironic, isn't it, Yami? I am certainly human now, aren't I?" Yami's lips twisted, and his brows furrowed, as he turned back to Seto. "Would you have called me here if you weren't dying?" 

"Would you have troubled yourself to come if I wasn't?" The long silence stretched between then, as Seto sat back with a trace of his old smug satisfaction.

"As I said before, Yami. I have had a change of heart in these last few months."

Yami nodded, slowly. "I can see that. But you never did answer my question as to why you wanted to see me." Seto's face contorted as if he had swallowed something extremely unpleasant, and Yami watched with concern as Seto struggled with the next words.

"I asked you here because I knew you would understand. Of all the times we've dueled, all the times we have scorned, and sneered and snubbed each other...there was no time that you didn't understand my reasons, or questioned my intentions. You were the one person who never once attempted to pry me open, bend my will, or force me to submit to somebody else's tortured ideals of what I should be. All my life, Yami, I have been surrounded by the demands of others, and forced to conform to them. I thought that I owed you a bit of an explanation and gratitude for that. So...thanks." 


	5. The Wounds We Share

"It's apparent that we have both suffered more than was ever called for." Yami ventured quietly, after the long silence that passed between them, but not uncomfortably. Kaiba snorted, and shook his head.  
"If it wasn't called for, we would not have suffered it. I know why I suffered, Yami. What I went through, and what it cost." His eyes lingered with a strange warmth over the silver framed picture of a much younger Mokuba, and himself. Yami glanced to see a raven-haired boy offering a fearful smile at the camera, strengthened by the thin arms of Seto drapped over his shoulder in a protective embrace.

"I know what I went through, Yami, and I'll be damned before I ever let Mokuba suffer that way. It's worth it, to protect him. I bet you have suffered on Yugi's behalf far more than he'll ever know. And I would venture a guess that you would endure far more just to keep him safe. Yuygi is worth it to you, right?"

Yami gave him a sad smirk. "Yugi would not have suffered near as much were I not part of his life, Seto."

"Maybe. But, if you asked his oppinion, I am pretty sure your little cheerleader would tell you that it's worth it.  
You never intentionally made him suffer, and you spared him from what you could, did you not?" Seto sat back, templed his hands under his chin, and waited for Yami's answer with suprising perception and patience. "Of course. I never wanted him to suffer on my behalf. Did you really believe I ever wanted that"  
His question was laced with sharp pain, as he bristled under the scrutiny of those cerilian eyes.

"Oh, please. Spare me your defense of your morality, Yami. In the beginning, you were a sadistic monster.  
I am not sure I would have been any better, locked away and brutalized as you were. But it doesn't negate the fact of who you were." Yami's eyes narrowed in icy consideration, as he answered, softly, "It does not negate the chance that I have changed since, too."

Seto gave a dismissing shrug, and smiled, bitterly. "Tell me, Yami. Have you ever given thought as to what Yugi will do when you part ways?"

Yami exhaled sharply at the barbed question, and he raised blazing eyes to Kaiba.  
"I would never leave Yugi, Kaiba. I promised him that!" Kaiba only chuckled, shook his head in cynical disbelief, as he tilted his head to regard Yami again. "Oh? And do you really believe that I didn't promise Mokuba the same thing? I'm leaving him anyway."

"Not willingly." Yami ground out between clenched teeth. "Be that as it may, it changes nothing." Kaiba's answer was emphasized by the sarcastic salute to Yami. "You are hardly doing Yugi any favors by keeping his dependence on you going. What if something happens and you're no longer available to pick up the mess he's made for himself? How will you survive without him needing you?"

Yami slammed a fist on the table, and hissed in angered anguish, "I won't be leaving Yugi. I cannot die."

Seto looked at him sadly, and said with no satisfaction, softly, "But Yugi can."

Yami heaved as if stabbed, tightening his fists into clenched knots of pain as he whipped out sharply,  
"Do you honestly think I don't know that?!

The long silence drifted from awkward unease to outright, naked pain, thinly veiled in the sarcastic knives they kept hurling at each other. Yami They stared at each other, so bitterly locked in combat, but the shared understanding of the pain they could not speak of looming over them both in all its clarity. Kaiba rolled himself away from the ornate desk with a grunt, and a shove, to the huge window that streamed pearled light into an arch of golden red against the velvet maroon of the carpet. The sky had faded to a velvet swell of indigo, the trees keeping their lonely vigil over the yard, their branches arched in their indifferent task of shielding Seto from any view of a passerby. Seto exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in their usual irriation as he heard Yami's soft footsteps. Yami cautiously slid nearer to Seto's side, with a silent glance seeking permission. Seto gave him a curt nod, then turned back to the fiery sky. "What is it now, Kaiba? The sunset isn't colored to your specifications?" The low, wry chuckle imediately died in Yami's throat when he saw the angonized look on Kaiba's face in one terrible moment before his features twisted into his teeth clenching, and his eyes blazing. "It's another sunset gone, Yami. One more day, snatched.  
Do you know how insulting it is to hear you speak of time as if it is an endless stream? How irritating it is to hear you be so casual about that"  
Yami turned to him, the wound clear, and concealed, as he snarled back, "And do you know how much of a burden it is to not know when or even if your time never runs out, Kaiba?! Do you have any idea how many loved ones I have been seperated from? How miserable it is to know that everyone and everything that I know and love will eventually leave me? I would give you my time for a definite ending, Kaiba. I'd give you an eternity of it!"

Kaiba grunted in relunctant surrender, quaked an eyebrow, shook his head, with a sigh. "If I agree that your fate really sucks, will you promise to quit ranting about it? If I wanted a speech, I would call Tea and ask her oppinion on friendship." Yami stared, stunned as Kaiba allowed a rare, genuine smile, only to scowl in thought, and not necessarily pity.

"I'm still not sure if I believe all your ancient Egyptian bull, but if it's true in any sense...I'm sorry, Yami." Yami tactfully turned his face away, to avoid humilating Kaiba by gaping in shock at him. Kaiba showing sympathy was as alien to him as the Puzzle turning into a cotton ball. It was just too absurd and extrodinary to be believed. Seto sneered at the darkening sky, jabbed a finger at the last failing rays of the sunset. "Yes, I know. Sympathy from me is as odd as the sun rising in the west." Seto's admission was bitter, but Yami could not help but note the weary sadness behind the words.

"Do you not find it just a bit pretentious and exceedingly sad taht a simple act of human decency from you is so rare that it's considered extrodinary, Kaiba?" Yami asked him, bluntly.

Kaiba smirked, the glimmer of sharklike calculation making him even more unnerving. "Yet, you still deem it necessary to point it out, Yami."

Yami bit his lip in futility, weary from both Seto's mind games and sparring, and the choking restraint that arose from such pity over Kaiba's condition. He was unnerved exactly on how to reconcile the rather vicious revelation that maybe Kaiba was not quite the heartless, regal bastard that Yami just assumed he was...not out of necessity, or choice, but simply because this was Kaiba. If there was one scar that Yami never quite recovered from, it was having his own defenses stripped away. That violation was something he was leery of, and desperately dancing around to avoid in the first place. Now wonder Kaiba so balantly chafed and sneered at the unwitting provocation. It must hurt.

Yami looked at Kaiba with new understanding, the smugness yielding to a bit less snarl, as he sat back. Yami never spoke of it. He didnt know how well this information would be recieved, but he was certain that Kaiba would only see it as Yami being intrusive. What was there left to say if Kaiba only looked for the unwitting wound in everything that Yami never intended to inflict, anyway? From the harsh, jutting angle of his jaw, to the glittering cynism that clouded over his fiery eyes, there was nothing that suggested that Kaiba was interested in discussing it anyway.

But Kaiba sat back without releasing another verbal verbal barb, waiting in eerie, satisfied patience, for Yami to collect his drifting thoughts.  
In a way, Yami supposed that Kaiba enjoyed the verbal volley. It was probably refreshing to be matched insult for insult, without regard for the wounds or the aftermath. He instinctively knew that Kaiba found brutal honesty far more desirable than kind deception for the sake of sparing his feelings.

"Do you enjoy provoking me to answer because you relish the combat, or do you savor seeing me flinch?" 


	6. The Breaking

hor's Note: I am in the process of writing two out of control stories, both the Crown, and The End. I did not expect to get so much positive feedback from the End of All Things, but I am so grateful that you all enjoy it. Thank you so much. This chapter is very short, but very brutal.

The question lingered between them, Yami still chafing under the barage of insults, and being stripped of his defenses, and Kaiba tremoring inwardly at the viciousness that he honestly did not mean to hurl at Yami. The pointed, pained question from the spirit made him feel ashamed,  
though he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that. After all, Yami had come to him by his own request, and only snarled when he was trapped and tormented. From the drawn line that now furrowed the young king's brow, to the tightness in his lips, it was obvious that he was restraining himself from really letting Kaiba know what he thought of him. From the twitching beneith the violet eye, to the way Yami kept glancing beseechingly at the door, Seto could see that Yami had no intention of lingering here any longer than he felt necessary...but why did he linger?  
Polite obligation? Penance? Or just guilt because of Seto's impending death? All three possibilities made Kaiba disgusted just to think of them.

"Do you enjoy provoking me to answer because you relish the combat, or do you savor seeing me flinch?" 

Yami quietly repeated the question with dead indifference, as he sighed, not really knowing or caring what the answer would be. As far as he was concerned, Seto was beyond his help,  
and there was no point in subjecting himself to more irritating wounds, or being dictated by the change in situation. Normally, he and Kaiba would have sneered their respective insults over their cards, elegant rants that amused more than hurt, he would have won, received Kaiba's speech, and they would have walked away from each other. It was simple, it was clean, it was now gone, and never returning. It was strange to think that such a simple thing would be seem momentous now. But Yami said nothing of that, because he knew that Kaiba would hate despise his dying being reduced to flowery declarations of sentimental bull, and it would be out of his character to say something to that affect almost as much as it would be for Kaiba to accept it. So, what was there left to do but leave?

"You haven't flinched, and I sure as hell don't savor it unless I mean for it to happen, Yami." Yami stared up at Kaiba, the sadness, and the bitter smile coiling about his lips with such finality and dismissal, that Kaiba had to fight the urge to slug it off his face.

"So, you simply enjoy provoking me, regardless of the reason. I should have expected no less. Seto..." Yami shook his head, sadly.  
"I know that you will consider this nothing but condensending pity if I give you my best wishes or regards. So I will spare you and myself that awkwardness, though it is a shame that we can't even exchange the obligatory social pleasantries without looking for some hidden intention. I suppose on some level you believe you have taken a great, maybe a heroic risk in having me here, on the chance that I might see you as someone slightly human, and therefore, vulnerable. But, once again, you looked for my intention to wound you, even though I didn't come here with any plan on adding to your suffering. I'll forgive you for that, if you forgive me for my assumptions. It's just disgusting to me that neither one of us can move beyond who we are." With that, Yami rose, gave Seto a formal bow, which made his eyebrow quirk, as Yami quietly made his way to the door.

"I know." Kaiba's words were barely above a whisper, but with so much understanding and despair that Yami's gut clenched inspite of himself.  
"Yami." Yami looked back at the sound of his name, clearly waiting. "It can't be helped." They shared understanding for a brief moment, before Yami solemnly nodded. "And as I said, Seto. It's a shame." He said, softly. "But, you will call me again, if you need another...debate. I found our chat enlightening if nothing else." With the slight shrug of his narrowed, bowed shoulders, Yami lingered briefly, before striding silently away and closing the door behind him softly. Seto stared at his retreating form, saying nothing, but feeling vaguely tempted to summon him again when he needed a good purge of his soul.

It had been hell for a long time now. Each day was a new exercise in humility, each action only puncuated by even more surrender to what he could no longer do for himself. As much as he snarled, and groused, and occasionally, bitched, it changed nothing about the disease taking him bit by bit, as his body gave way, heedless of his will. It was the cruel indifference that scared him. Just when he thought that he had adjusted himself to adapting to the shackles, the limits, and was actually at peace with it, the bottom fell out again, and he found himself scrambling to realign everything within himself. And, one day, when he had found himself weeping unexpectedly from an emotional onslaught that finally drove him to act on the one thoughtless, heedless impulse that would alter everything.

It was a deliberate act of fear, a coward's way out. A thing he never thought he would be reduced to considering, a path he never envisioned himself taking. But, that was before the cancer, before his life started erroding out from benieth his feet that could no longer support him, before this disease that was slowly swallowing him alive. It was not about surrender, but control, he rationalized. He had considered an exit by blade, severing an artery, or whatnot, but he was repulsed by the idea of carving his own flesh open,and he knew he no longer had the steadiness in his hands to promise success, anyway. And, it would be cruel to leave Mokuba with the literally bloody aftermath. That thought alone made him cringe. No, it had to be deliberate, tidy, and final. So, he had worked out his precious concoction of pills, kept readily available and calculated with so much care, that he knew it could not fail. Mokuba was gone for the weekend, visiting friends, and he had dismissed his nurse as soon as his brother left. So, he was alone in the cavervenous office, free to do as he wished, with little chance of interuption. The pills, he had arranged in a careful sequence, according to dosage and side effect, but the idea of ingesting them raw was repulsive. There was hardly any need for elegant restraint now. Still, he took out his stoutest liquor from its crystal hold, and poured the dark liquid into a gossimer goblet, til it almost foamed over.

He was never a heavy drinker, and rarely induldged in anything more stout than a glass of white wine. The pills sat by, waiting, two dozen of them in a neat, tidy pile. Seto took a long, slow sip of the liquor, relishing the burn as it slid fire, and false, steadying courage dwon his throat. Here was a dragon with some bite, he mused, as he set the heavy glass down wiht a soft clink and a quaking hand. His eyes strayed to the inviting sheets of his bed, flung open as if in welcome, as he considered whether or not it would be easier to be found in bed,or sprawled out on the floor. From what he knew of the pills, their tranquilzing effect was rapid in onset, and he would have little time to screw around with fixing his mistakes after he downed them. He hardly considered drooling drunk to be the way to go, and from all the gulps he had taken. Seto could tell the alcohol was already having an effect, by the hazy, comfortable warmth that slowly slid up his limbs, and the slack that had taken control of his fingers. Without any more deliberation, he carefully counted the pills, folded them neatly in the cup of his hand, and slid them to his mouth, as he gulped several desperate swallows of the drink to choke them down. The bottle slipped from his fingers, and he flinched at the sound of splintering glass. It fell in souch a shower of rainbowed shards, he mused, as he staggered a few steps, and fell to his knees. He cradled his head in the crook of his arm, feeling the dark slumber come over him. He lingered, tortured between the strangling slack of his body, and the sluggish yielding. Seto surrendered to something for the first time without a fight, as his eyes slid shut, and his breathing slowed. 


	7. Torn

Torn-

It was the violation to his throat that broke him out of his drugged stupor, made his body jerk spasmotically, in instinctive revolt. He heard a panicked wailing shattering the heavy silence. He had faltering awarenessthat pierced through the torpor. Time lay over everything like slowly dripping ice, freezing all in its wake, and suspending him in some prison. Hands, clawed hands in gloves, gripping his lax limbs, and abruptly flinging his unresisting body onto his back. He felt something wet and cold sliding down his cheek in an aching trail, but did not know if it was his own tear, or the drool that was collecting at the corner of his clamped, blue-tinged lips.

He forced his heavy lids open at the sound of his name spoken so soft and sad, as if he were already reduced to a memory. He felt his head being tilted, his body lifted, his chin deliberately arched to allow easier access to his throat. There was nothing but blinding light, light bright enough from those fluorescent

humming bulbs to make him blind, if he was only lucky enough. He saw a ring of concerned faces, peering down at him, their faces hidden by their masks of cloth, their voices rushed and cold. Through the haze of confusion and pain, he saw the tube, delicately arched and waitng, deliberately aimed at his throat, as he felt his jaws being gently manipulated into spreading. He felt the passing prick of the needle, delivering the sedative, and his muscles melting to water, hsi terror being swallowed by darkness, his eyes closing again, gentle oblivion drawing him under.

Yami could not stop the shivering as he watched Seto's body being subjected to what looked like torture, not understanding any of the medical treatment. He only saw it as sickening abuse, Seto's body being splayed out, the pale, broken form completely defenseless on that wheeled bed, and restrained by both bedsheets, and straps. He saw them implant the tube that was now suctioning out the poison from his stomache, blanched at the eyes closing with such finality, Seto's complete non-resistance to what was certainly painful, and invasive. Yami was perversely grateful that Seto seemed to be unconscious through the whole ordeal.

Yami could only imagine the pain that Seto would be subjected to as they flooded the slender tube with liquid that vanished down Kaiba's throat. Yami watched the body lying so limp, where anybody alive would be writhing and gagging and moving...Yami shuddered as the horrible aftermath was brought back up in one nasty spew, through the tube, neatly dripping out into a waiting basin. The grim task done, the doctor slowly withdrew the tube. Seto was quietly arranged over a pillow, as two women in strange, green garb carefully adjusted his IV tubing, checked his pulse, his breathing. They wheeled him away without ceremony, into the vast quagmire of tiled hallways, and left him in the empty room, under the canopy of wires, IV bags, tubes, and an oxygen mask.

Hours crawled by, minutes dragged themselves into eternity in that hellish white room. Mokuba stood rigidly at attention, keeping vigil over the metal doors like a soldier guarding a tomb. Yami sat in the plastic chair,

hunched and spent, flanked by the ever-faithful Yugi. Yami alternated between pacing aggitated steps around the plastic chairs, and glaring at those doors as if he wanted to rip them off. Yugi had placed a restraining hand on Yami's shoulder, and Mokuba watched as Yami sighed and collapsed into the plastic chair again.

It had been Yami who by chance or fate had found Kaiba, fallen in a heap as if he had been

cut down at the knees, hsi hands still clutching a white pill, the rest of them strewn about him as if they had propelled themselves that way.

Yami was only there by Mokuba's insistance. For whatever reason, the younger Kaiba insisted that Seto had benefitted from Yami's visit, and he was worried about his brother being alone. Yami had entered the room, and found the wilted form of Seto sprawled on the floor. Yami stared dumbly for a few seconds, not understanding the scene, before he roared Kaiba's name, and frantically rolled him over. He blanched in

rising terror at the hollow glaze of the eyes rolled back into the skull, their white glittering perversely against the pale, cold skin. He bolted in panic, rousing not only Mokuba, but several of the staff, and they flooded the room imediately. Mokuba lingered in the doorway, before he jerked forward, almost unwillingly towards his fallen sibling, hunched over him in agonized stupor, as Yami bellowed out a command that help be summoned imediately. Yami sensibly rolled Seto over to see if he still lived. He gave a terse nod to Mokuba, who almost wept with relief, as Yami rose from his assessing crouch. He was amazed to see the ever steady Rolland already on the phone. It was tense, quiet, and surreal, as they waited helplessly. Mokuba had watched the EMTs drag a stretcher in, gather their information, work over Kaiba's body, and whisk him away so fast...

Yami watched Seto's body being carted away, and did not speak, but he turned to Mokuba, watched his frenzied dash towards the door, the animalistic clawing and shrieking of fury and pain as he fought his way from the restraining arms of Rolland. "Let me get a driver for you, sir. You'll get to your brother faster."

Rolland gently released Mokuba, who stood trembling, pale, and dumbly up at him, too stunned to answer.

He flinched when he felt Yami's hand brush his shoulder, attempting to calm him. Mokuba shuddered violently, but Yami was relieved to see that frantic insanity leave his staring, glazed eyes, and Mokuba

bite out the question of when the hell the car was going to be there. Rolland quietly stepped aside, answering that the car was already waiting. Mokuba started forward towards the downstairs, but lingered, flinging an imploring hand towards Yami.

"Come with me. Please. I know that you're uncomfortable, but I can't stand being alone in that waiting room if...my brother...doesn't..." Mokuba could not complete the horrible thought, and Yami couldn't stand to hear it voiced.

"Do not even think of acting as if he were gone until he is!!" Yami roared, as Mokuba seemed to shrink and

cringe in even more pain.

"I am sorry, Mokuba. I didn't mean to ..."

Mokuba waved the apology down as he slid aside for Yami to follow him downstairs to the waiting car, and then to the hospital. Yami muttered a quick prayer that Seto would live.


	8. The Lingering

He found himself lingering somewhere in the netherlands of heaven, and hell, cushioned by the pillow and soft sheets, but subjected to so much pain in the various medical implements keeping him firmly anchored to his flesh. He would have recoiled had he the strength, or the mindset.

But, he had neither, nor the awareness, so he merely existed in the strange, womb-like stasis,

glimmerings of the outside world distracting him from his stupor, but confusing him all the more.

He heard Mokuba, felt his tears, his hand clasping his own in desperate pleading, Yami staring down at him with his eyes clenched and narrowed. Yami had no condemption, only a relunctant acknowledgment that he understood exactly what had driven him to such desperation, and how certain he was that he would do no less.

It had been more unnerving to see Seto laying there on that gurney than it had been for Yami to find him overdosed and dying by his own hand. Maybe it was the fact that in the shelter of his own home, he could pretend that Seto was still...alright. Or maybe it was seeing the dragon that had such an iron will succumb to such a tortured impulse, and be struck down for his mistake just like any other suicide attempt might be. It was balantly obvious that Mokuba was far too shattered to understand what had driven

Seto to do what he considered to be a monstrously selfish act, and had driven himself nearly insane at the thought of any more precious time being snatched away.

Yami winced in preminiton. If-God forbid- that Seto had actually rendered himself too damaged to make his own choices, he imagined that Mokuba would fight to the bitter end

to preserve every last breath that his broken body would have, by prayer, by machine, by any insult necessary to Seto's dignity if it meant that there was more time.

Yami was appalled at the thought of Seto's mind being slain but the body remaining perversely alive, breathing, existing, and prevented from leaving this world.

Such an intervention made Yami shudder, and find himself grateful that he was not subjected to such cruel limbo. But, he said nothing to Mokuba. The younger Kaiba was already tormented enough without Yami interjecting his clearly intrusive oppinion on a matter that was so agonizingly volital.

His troubled thoughts were interupted by the soft, almost apologetic voice asking for a "Mr. Mokuba Kaiba?" Mokuba flinched at the sound of his name, as he shot up from his seat to face the haggard looking doctor that offered him a wan smile of reassurance.

"Mr.Kaiba, you will be most pleased to know that your brother is resting comfortably, and you should be able to take him home. You may visit him, if you want.

We'll be keeping him overnight for observation, and I'd like to give you the name of a counselor so your brother can get the help he needs."

Mokuba sagged in relief, and Yami watched the raptured smile emerging from the horrific strain being lifted. "Thank God." Mokuba whispered in awe, too overwhelmed to

do much more than pump the doctor's hand in zealous gratitude, and eagerly sprinting off to Seto's room. Yami gave the doctor a polite nod, and sighed, as he sunk back into the plastic chair. He did not know if Mokuba expected him to accompany him, and he loathed to intrude with what was a necessary bit of unresolved anguish between the two.

It would be cruel to walk away now. Decision made, he gritted his teeth in bitter resolve and resigned himself to a long wait.

-

Mokuba had fairly sprinted down the hallway towards his brother's room, in his eagerness to confirm that his brother was indeed alright. But now, he stood, gut-wrenchingly uncertain, in tortured lingering at the door, his hand on the knob, unable to move forward. He gulped, heaved out a breath, then forced himself onward.

It was torture to see Seto like _this._ Seto was uncerimoniously propped up on several pillows, with the head of his bed raised, the rails up, shielding him from a fall and preventing him from rising even if he had the strength. He was clad in a pale blue hospital gown, securely tied at the back of his neck, the sheets drawn and flung at his waist, his hands crossed over his heaving ribs, his head bowed in absolute shame.

"Seto?" He raised his head, slowly, and Mokuba was nearly broken to see the haunted eyes brimming over with so much remorse. Seto flung his arms wide, in a groping plea, only to drop them in mortifying helplessness as Mokuba hastily crossed the remaining steps, his own arms open in embracing forgiveness, carefully when he felt the

fragile frame shuddering against him. Mokuba buried his face in Seto's shoulder, and he felt Seto drape his own arms over him in an old gesture of comfort, from so many nights when his elder brother had soothed away so many nightmares, or wiped away so many tears.

"Mokuba...I...forgive me, please." Mokuba only coiled tighter in his arms, trying to convey with his embrace what words could not. Seto felt the confirming nod against his chest, the words muffled by the hospital gown's material, and the tears.

"I already have." Seto raised an eyebrow at the sudden absolution of the horrible wrong he had committed, grimaced at the realization that it was far from over, but contented himself with accepting his brother's freely offered forgiveness as Mokuba's gift, and did not bother questioning it. There would be another opportunity to probe his wounds and ruminate over his weakness at his leisure. But after seeing Mokuba's agony, and the overwhelming joy at just seeing him live...Seto's cheeks flamed anew with raw guilt at how close he came to shattering Mokuba.

"Seto, I don't want to know why. I just want you to promise me that you won't do this again. Promise me, Seto." Mokuba felt Seto's shaking hands slide away from his shoulders, pushing him away with such frail effort, as Seto gripped his wrists in steadying touch, as he forced Mokuba to look him in the eyes.

"Don't you understand, Mokuba? I didn't do this to hurt you! I just..." His words failed, his heart fractured, and he felt the loss of everything anew. For one terrible moment, he was furious with Mokuba for demanding such an agreement, but from seeing the hopeless despair as Mokuba bowed his head in terrible finality, Seto committed a treachery that he never thought he would ever do to Mokuba. He lied.

"I promise, Mokuba." He ruffled his hair, released him, with what he hoped was a coy smile gracing his lips. "When is my homecoming?"

Mokuba lurched, and from the darting glance to the door, to the stiffening in his frame, or the overwhelming fear that now radiated from his eyes, Seto knew that Mokuba was lying as well. "The doctors...they want to keep you here for a little bit just to make sure you're alright."

Seto felt the biting questions, the sceptical urge to pry apart the outright lie, exposing it, and stripping Mokuba of his defenses, but he only shuddered as a horrible realization overcame those thoughts.

Mokuba was afraid of him. His own flesh and blood was afraid of him going home, because Mokuba could not accept his impending demise, and could not stand the idea that Seto might attempt to liberate himself, this time with success.

Seto felt pain that ran so much deeper than anything merely physical, as he forced himself to nod his head in weary acceptance. It was his own foolishness that had condemned him to at least a few days in the hospital. Maybe distance was necessary for both he and Mokuba to sift through all this pain and somehow piece back together who they were and who they were becoming.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep, Seto." Seto frowned up at him, not out of irritation, but because he honestly did not know if he could handle Mokuba watching him brood in silence for most of the night, unless the nurse was kind enough to bring him a sedative of some sort.

From the burning raw hitch in his throat, to so many troubled thoughts all clawing at his last remnant of self-control, Seto shook his head in dismissal.

"Watching me sleep is boring as hell, and I don't want you losing any more because of me, Mokuba. I want you to go home and get some rest."

Mokuba opened his mouth to argue, as Seto hastily waved it down, and rose on his elbows with a stern eyebrow raised. "No arguing, Mokuba. You know I hate being watched, and I _will_ ask for a pill or something to help me sleep. And, even if I did have the inclination to do something really stupid, I'm watched all the time. Go home, and

come back in the morning. It's been a long night for us both." Seto muttered with weary finality, as he attempted, and failed miserably to give Mokuba a reassuring smile.

He settled for laying a palm on his younger brother's shoulder in a squeeze, and a pointed shove towards the door.

Mokuba staggered in an elaborate lurch forward, and Seto gave him a coolly tolerant smirk. "Are you sure, Seto?" Seto sighed in irritation, as he held out his arms awkwardly for Mokuba's parting embrace.

"I am very sure, Mokuba. Now, how much reassurance do you need me to give you before you believe me enough to go back home?" Mokuba relunctantly nodded, as

he surrendered to Kaiba's wishes. Relunctantly, he lingered in the doorway.

"I'll be back in the morning, Seto. Is that alright?" Seto nodded, and waved him out the door. Mokuba looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, and silently slipped out of the room.

Seto waited until he knew that Mokuba was gone, before he allowed himself to slump in absolute despair. So many tortured thoughts of his own helplessness haunted him, as he lay back against the stiff white bed, and scowled down at the immodest gown. He twined the sheets against his fingers and pulled them up to his chin, shivering.

Everything here was so damn white, pristine, cold, indifferent. He sighed, wearily, disgustedly, at himself for now grousing about what color his room was. His eyes fell on the call button, and he debated Mokuba's suggestion of taking a sedative. Well, his options looked like either ruminating over his pain until he drove himself insane, and

really scare Mokuba tomorrow, or drug himself into oblivion and escape it all for a few hours. When he thought of that, he shrugged, and pushed the call button.

After having the night nurse fussing with his sheets, and whatnot, she presented him with a large pill and a cup of water on a plastic tray.

He ignored the water, and downed the pill raw, tossing the cup deftly into the trash, and gave her a curt, but polite good night.

The cloying oblivion was almost welcome. With his last thoughts roving futily for answers as to how to make any of this right, he sent forth a rare prayer for forgiveness to

a God he hoped was listening, and did not resist when the sleep finally came.


	9. Bitter

Seto wasn't sure if it was the terse understanding that glittered from Yami's eyes, or the weary acceptance of his pitiful action without any word of disapproval that irked the hell out of him more. Yet, it had been Yami who had stopped him from completing his own death. Were it not for him, he most certainly would not be alive, now. Seto was not sure if he should be grateful, or angered. From the wary, almost apologetic way that Yami stood politely in the doorway, as if waiting for permission to leave, or

take a seat, Seto knew Yami would not concern himself with his own mental torture. It was not Yami's place to comment, though he was now irrivocably entwined with the situation. Seto did not want to know what Yami thought about that.

"Yami, either bring the popcorn and buy a ticket, or leave me the hell alone. Stop pissing around and take a seat, or leave." Yami raised an eyebrow in coy amusement, as he shook his head with a wry chuckle.

"I see that being hospitalized has not dampened your cheerful demeanor in the least." Yami's cool retort made Kaiba sigh, but smirk, as he gestured towards the chair.

"If I start skipping around with a basket of flowers, you might want to ask what sort of medication they give me. Otherwise, I won't be sharing."

Yami glided easily into the chair, and Seto watched as he braced hands on his knees, and leaned forward, as Seto worked the side of his mouth away from a concerned frown. From the shadowed weariness that clouded his eyes, and the ungraceful slump of his back, it was clear that Yami was exhausted.

"I hope you are generous to share a drug that spreads such joy, Seto. I believe we could both use it, now." Yami's soft reply was spoken without a smile, as he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.

The long silence between them was explosive, as Yami only stared down at Kaiba, and Kaiba only glared back. Yami sighed, and leaned back.

"You look like hell." Kaiba's voice was sarcastic, as Yami's jaw slid open a bit from the random, pointed comment, before he stiffened. "Rough night?" The question was cruel.

"And you look so refreshed from your sedative-induced nap! How in the hell am I supposed to look after coming upon your attempted suicide, Kaiba? Should I be smiling over the fact that you're still alive, or riddled with guilt that I interupted?!"

Yami's words were mutilated by the effort it took for him to grind out from such clenched jaws, as he rose, trembling in rage.

"How the hell am I supposed to feel, Kaiba?! Should I be rejoicing over the fact that I've forced you to live, or not?!" Yami's tortured questions made Seto cringe as if he had been slapped, as his eyes bulged. There was no sound but Yami's heaving breath as he shuddered and slid back into the chair, his head bowed.

"Why the hell did you intervene, Yami? You of all people should understand why I did it." The raw pain had force the words out, the disgusting dependence, the vision of his life decaying around him, and being entrapped by a failing body had haunted Seto enough for him to end it his way. Was that so bitterly hard to understand...or accept?

Yami only shook his head in disgust. "I know that Mokuba is forced to dance around your continual bull----, because he loves you too much to force the truth out of you:

that you are terrified of this whole thing, even though you hide behind your snide remarks with the rest of us, and that condendsending coddling with him. Don't you think he deserves more of a parting gift from you than an overdose and a lifetime of guilt that you didn't love him enough to stay?"

For the second time in less than two days, Seto felt the cloying guilt, freshly resurrected and fortified by Yami's rant that he was quite justified in delivering, actually.

His guilt was only spurred on by Yami's next words, that were so soft he had to strain to hear them.

"I'm sorry that I took away your one chance to control your ending, Kaiba.But do not make me believe that the wrong I committed in taking away your choice is worse than what you did to Mokuba that night. And if you love your younger sibling as much as you claim, then you should at least have the decency to be as honest with him as you are with me. Please understand me: I am not trying to add to your pain. I don't judge you for your actions, it is not my place. But in attempting to end your suffering by killing yourself almost broke your brother, Seto."

The little speech was spoken with such compassion that Seto might have been irritated if he wasn't so stripped of his defenses by the barbed truth of the words.

He had nothing to argue with, no weapons left to hurl, and no reason, now. Yami sighed, deeply, and Seto saw the troubled concern glinting so uncertainly as he was silent, waiting for Seto to storm, to rage, or order him to leave with the usual fire. It would have been so much easier than this overwhelming quiet, as Seto only stared at him, his face stricken, and his eyes nearly frantic in their effort to find anything to focus on but him.

Yami, in different circumstances might have been proud of himself for rendering Seto speechless, but there was no victory in this torment. There was no absolution he had left to give.

"What the hell do you want from me, Yami? To beg for your forgivness, and thank you for saving me from a quick death only to endure a long one? I know that what I did was stupid and cowardly! I know that I nearly broke my little brother's heart! I know,damn it!" Seto suddenly stopped speaking, only to bury his hands in his face, and start quivering. Yami gaped to see his face contort, twist itself into a mask of anguish as he groaned. Seto's clawed fingers ran through his hair and Yami saw the pale sheen of sweat that was ravaging his features. With trembling fingers, he quickly pressed the call button, as he flopped down on the mattress, all dignity forgotten, as the summoned nurse emerged a few moments later.

"Mr. Kaiba?" Her uncertain question hung in the room as an unwelcome reminder of the true nature of Kaiba's health as he choked out, "I need pain meds...NOW!"

She stared at him, quite perturbed to be addressed in such a manner and was apparently about to tell him so, when Kaiba wilted in the bed, and swallowed hard.

"Why the hell are you still standing there?! Go!" He bellowed, as he went pale, and shut his eyes. The nurse pursed her lips with a shake of her head, but scurried off.

Yami watched helplessly as Kaiba lay back, humilated, and miserable. "I hate people seeing me like this, Yami. Weak, sick, pitiful, and unable to even sit upright without

pain pills to keep me sane. You saw how devastated Mokuba was with my suicide attempt. Exactly how much happier will he be watching me die as this crap progresses?

I don't expect your outlook to change much, but maybe now you can see there was a bit more than just cowardly selfishness at work here." Kaiba closed his eyes, and sighed, trying to uncoil his body from the fetal position he almost instinctively curled in.

"You were trying to spare Mokuba from this, and not just attempting to escape?" Yami's sceptism was clear, as he crossed his arm with a considering eyebrow. It was rather pathetic to hear Seto put this noble spin on his self-destructive behavior, but pursuing that matter was not an interest now.

"You are going to believe whatever the hell you believe, anyway, Yami. Did you save me because you honestly thought I needed to live, or because there was no other solution to be sought?" Yami grit his teeth at the retort, but with grudging admiration. Even when he was almost doubled over in pain, and barely able to speak, Kaiba was quite willing to do battle, even if it was over a rather petty difference of oppinion.

The nurse returned with a scowl, and a med cup full of the requested pills. Seto snatched them up, and gulped them down, not troubling himself with the offered water.

"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Kaiba?" The nurse's curt question only resulted in a sneer, and the med cup flung at her.

"No, I won't. Now, kindly remove yourself from this room, and quit bothering me until I hit the call light." The nurse glared over her shoulder and retreated, not stooping to pick up the cup.

Yami offered her an apologetic smile as he rose to open the door for her, with a bow. "I am sorry for his treatment of you, miss." She huffed in annoyance at Kaiba, gave Yami a dazzling smile, with a chuck under his chin. "Wow. Cute, and mannerly. It's a shame other people can't be both." She left with a rather balant glance over her shoulder at Kaiba, as Yami scooped up the cup and silently tossed into the plastic trash can, with a shrug.

"To answer your question, Seto, I honestly didn't _think_ of my motives when I summoned help after finding you slumped in that pile of pills. There wasn't the luxury of time for me to come up with an elaborate and satisfying explanation as to why I thought it was necessary to intervene. I didn't know one would be necessary, but if it satisfies you, I will give you one."

Seto had slowly relaxed as the meds finally kicked in, heaved a sigh of relief as the pain faded to a bearable level. Yami's tirades were amusing as they were infuriating, and he was interested in a distraction, anyway.

"Oh?" He drew one arm in an elaborate,sarcastic flourish. "This I must hear. Please, do tell."

"It wasn't my choice to walk away, then, or now, any more than it's your choice when you live or die, Seto. There are just some things you must accept and understand, rather than attempting to control, and force. My own bitter experiences in the Puzzle have taught me that much." He gave Seto a broken smirk

"Do you care to elaborate on exactly how being locked away in an some ancient junk jewelry gives you any right to speak to me about what I'm going through now?"

Yami shook his head, wryly. "I never said it gave me the right, Seto. It only gives me a certain perspective that I would not have had otherwise, that you may find useful.".

"Continue, then. The suspense is killing me." Seto shook his head in amused tolerance, and a wave of his hand.


	10. Unintentional

Yami's eyebrow twitched in astonishment. "You expect me to believe that you honestly _want_ to hear about my time in the Puzzle? Why?"

Seto crossed his arms in dismissal, as he rose to pile a couple more pillows behind his craned neck. It had started to ache earlier during this exchange, and he shifted, uncomfortably, thanking God that the meds were working their magic, finally. "If you weren't honestly expecting to talk about it, why did you bring it up?"

Yami only shrugged, feeling suddenly trapped by the demanding hand waving for him to speak on, the way Seto propped himself up as in preparation.

"Why do you want to hear this, really, Seto?"

Seto sighed, the corner of one mouth drawn up in thought as he drummed fingers against the steel bedrail. There was no sound except for their breathing, the beep of monitors, the expectant hush that had fallen, the irritating sound of his fingers clanging on the metal, marking time as it wound its way from them so fast...

"Yami, never mind my reasons. I give you my word that I'll refrain from comment, or disbelief, or anything that could in any way hint that I am nothing but a devout believer

in golden trinkets that house spirits from ancient Egypt. If it makes you that pissy just thinking of it, maybe you're the one who needs the help in dealing with your issues, eh?"

Seto regretted the words anew, when he saw Yami only cross his arms over his narrow chest in a futile effort of self-protection, as he glowered at Kaiba. The hurt shimmered in his eyes briefly before it was concealed by his narrowed lids and a cold smirk curling one corner of his mouth upward.

"What is it like, Seto, to know that you are going to die? Do you care to describe it to me?" Yami was so casual, and cruel as he tilted his head to the side, waiting in answer, even draping one leg over his other knee, so at ease. But there was nothing there to suggest that Yami was eager for the answer. Indeed, it looked as if he were wearily expecting confirmation for something he already knew to be true.

Seto looked as if Yami had taken the luxury of a fist against his cheekbone, with his eyes wide, and jaw slack. Yami was not sure if it was the indiginity that he would have the audacity to ask such a blunt thing, or a returning volley of his own probing that struck him so untalkative now. He honestly did not care at the moment, either.

"It hurts, does it not? To have something so unbearable infused with all you are? To know that it matters little if you wake, or sleep, or how many distractions you attempt,

it's always there, and it never leaves? To be so altered by the pain that there comes a day when you can no longer reconcile who you were with the stranger you've become, over time? That is what the Puzzle is like, Seto. I imagine it's not too different from your dying. I know that it's rather vicious of me to assume such liberty about your suffering, but is there any part of my statement that you care to disagree with?"

It was the searing chuckle and the glitter of perverse amusement that startled Yami, as Seto descentigrated into out of character howls of laughter. He was shaking, and Yami wondered uneasily if it was genuine laughter, or hysteria, as Kaiba clapped his hands, shaking his head.

"Well done, Yami! Well done! I never thought you could take this whole dramatic experience of our conversation to a new level of low, but you have succeeded most admirably! And to think, Yami, it only takes you bringing up my dying at every other sentence to drag this down even lower! Such amusing verbosity, such kind, dazzling wit you posess! You want to know what dying is like? I'll experience it, no doubt, as will Yugi, and Tea, and the rest of your little circle of cheerleaders.But, there won't be any of us left to enlighten you on that experience, will there? No, you'll probably have nothing in your future but a graveyard full of friends and memories to remind you of all you've lost long after I'm nothing but bones and dust in the ground! How does that feel, Yami? It hurts, does it not?!"

Yami's reaction to those words was interesting, to say the least. The dead, slack glaze that had entered his eyes contrasted rather violently with the shaking of his hands, and the silence that he was gripped with did not mesh with the thundering of his heart, as he slowly drew himself out of the stupor.

Kaiba's reaction was less revealing, but no less interesting. He had gone pale, so blanched with the words that had just flown out of his mouth, took wings and were now

tearing at Yami like a flock of rabid birds. He could not remember a time when he had ever, ever been so petty and nasty and downright _mean_. It made him feel small, and out of control, as if he had reverted back to being a childish tyrant instead of a grown man running the most powerful company in the world.

His mouth was open in shock, and Yami actually heard the sound of his hand clapping over it, as if he could take the words back, or hold back more.

"Yes, Kaiba...it hurts. Satisfied?" The low, almost gutteral admission came from Yami's bowed head and clenched jaws as he raised eyes full of so much hatred that Kaiba

almost flinched.

"At least your bones and dust will be at peace, Kaiba. I'll be here long after your memory is nothing more than a name on a tombstone and KaibaCorps is reduced to a monument of all you've done. Does that satisfy you? Or do you still consider my immortality to be such a gift? Would you want to trade places, now? Would you care to endure an eternity of saying good-bye, or does lingering a few mortal moments on this earth satisfy you? I imagine that we both share the same burdens, however different our circumstance may be, the problem of time. I have far too much, and you have far too little."

"That's a rather simplistic statement, Yami. You honestly believe that I'm only upset about losing time?!"

Seto hissed, his voice dying to a whisper.

"It's not about time, Yami, it's about losing. Losing everything, and having absolutely no say in when it stops, or how, thanks to you." Seto gave him a scathing glance, and Yami cringed inwardly.

"Do you know how humiliating it is, to be bed-ridden, and too weak to even stand? How cheery would you be if you couldn't even navigate the bathroom without help, Yami? Would you be dancing around with a basket of flowers over that, or would you be eagerly awaiting the end of it, too?"

"What about Mokuba?"

Seto flinched, as his eyes closed, and his face grew coldly serene. "Mokuba is set for life, Yami. He'll never want for anything. I wouldn't leave him without providing for him.

"And how is your younger brother supposed to cope with your demise, Kaiba? Are you going to keep robbing him of your time together by not allowing him to talk to you about this, or are you going to leave him some peace?"

"Once again, Yami, your powers of perception are only surpassed by your egotistical beliefs. If Mokuba was so inept at handling a nice little chat about me dying, then why the hell isn't he here? You saw his reaction to my little pill party. Do you really think he can handle anything more?"

There was nothing but more silence as the two combatants slid into their own defenses to lick their wounds and soothe their pride. Yami only shrugged in answer, and said flatly, "He is your brother, Kaiba. You're going to have to help him with this."

"Oh? And how do you propose I do that, oh wise one? Can you cure this cancer? Can you stop any of this? If not, I suggest you shut the hell up and leave!" Kaiba roared

at Yami as he stiffened as if he had been hit. With a sad, resigned sigh, Yami shook his head, slid out of the chair, and made his way out of the room. Kaiba only seethed in futile rage as he huffed, and allowed his head to drop with a dull thud into the welcoming softness of the pillow.

Yami wearily trudged the long path back to the waiting room where the ever faithful Yugi was hunched into the plastic chair, softly snoring. With a sigh, he lay a gentle hand on Yugi's shoulder and shook him awake. Yami was smiling to see the violet eyes squinting in confusion under the glare of the fluorescent lights, before he grinned tiredly at Yami.

With a yawn, Yugi rose to his feet. "How did it go, Yami? Is Seto doing any better?" From the sagging of his shoulders, to the heavy way that Yami flopped into the plastic chair beside him, Yugi winced in sympathy.

"Still the same old Kaiba, then? I'm sorry, Yami, I know that you're trying to help him, but sometimes they have to want that help before anything works."

Yami raised an eyebrow to Yugi. "And how did you get to be so wise, Little One?"

Yugi shrugged, embarassed. "I didn't know I was, Yami. Do you want to go home now?"

"Home sounds like a most excellent idea, Yugi. Thank you for driving me here and waiting all this time." Yugi said nothing, but grimaced in worry as Yami slowly trudged the rest of the way to the waiting automobile. They passed most of the trip home in brooding silence, Yami with one hand

cradling his chin, and eyes empty and staring out the window, and Yugi concentrating on the road as they went on their way. From the troubled glances that Yugi kept giving him, Yami knew it was only a matter of time before Yugi brought up all that had transpired between him and Seto, and it was a conversation that he dreaded. Not that there was anything said that Yugi would not understand, but it was so much of a headache to sort through all the coded messages, and raw pain of the billionaire. Yami must have dozed off during the drive home, because he woke to Yugi's gentle shaking of his shoulder, and his name called with worry.

"Yami? We're home. I take it you want to go to bed?" Wearily, Yami nodded, as he followed Yugi up the dark path to the house, where their grandfather had kindly left the porchlight burning, though from the dark vacant quiet of the house, the old man had gone to bed. Yugi lay a steadying hand on Yami's shoulder as he guided him up the stairs, when he stumbled. Yami was usually so graceful, it was unnerving and amusing to see him trip over his own feet as Yugi flicked on the lights. He grabbed boxers and a tee-shirt and headed to the bathroom to change. Yami was too tired to care what he wore to bed, so he stripped down to his pants, and shirt, tucked his boots at the bed's corner, and rolled underneith the covers. He heard Yugi shuffling in a few moments later, but did not hear him get into the twin bed beside his own.

"Yami?" He groaned and rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows, to face Yugi. "What is it, Yugi?"

"Are you too tired to talk, Yami?" Yami shook his head. "Only if it's a brief chat, Yugi. I don't know how co-herent I'll be if it's longer than a few minutes. Is there something on your mind?" He gave Yugi a tolerant smile, as he curled up in the blankets.

"I'm not sure if it's my place to say this or not, Yami. But I'm a bit concerned about your visits with Kaiba. Everytime you come back, you just look...depressed."

Yami grunted in dismissal. "The man is dying, Yugi. I think rejoicing would be a bit out of place, don't you?"

"I'm not in anyway suggesting that anybody should be happy with what is happening to him, Yami. I just don't want you getting involved in a place that you may not be able to get out of later. If he doesn't have much longer, it might be wise for you to keep some of yourself back, Yami. Or else, part of you may go with him."

Yami looked at him in utter confusion, mixed with awe. "Yugi, how did you -"

"Yami..." Yugi began with such irritating patience, "we share the mindlink, remember? I would never read your thoughts without your permission, but it's taking its toll on you. I wouldn't say anything unless I was worried about you, you know that, right? Be there for him as much as you can, of course. But just remember that it's not your job to fix this, because you can't. Okay?"

Yugi yawned, and gave Yami a polite good night before he curled up into the sheets of his bed, and Yami was left wondering why Yugi's concerned words sounded like such an ominous warning.


	11. Vessle1

Vessel

It was a bright morning, but Seto was too bitterly miserable to give the saphire sky more than a passing glance from his window.

It had been two days since he and Yami had their latest blowout, and Seto, after some relunctant and rather tormented

self-reflection, had to admit to himself that he should not have treated Yami as his verbal punching bag. To dig his claws in such an obvious wound,

and keep picking at it until Yami was furious...that was cruel. He snarled at the nurses until they came into his room as if

at gunpoint, hastily complying to his wishes, and looking so eager to leave that it was insulting. He threw a particularly spectacular hissy fit

at one poor aide over his potatoes being cold on the plastic tray. It resulted in the poor girl leaving in tears after he flung the contents of the

tray at her. She had stood there, trembling, and weeping, the disgusting gravy dribbling off her scrubs, and her hair as he treated her to a

barrage of insults about her competence. She pathetically mopped up the contents as best she could, and ran out of the room, without so

much as a backwards glance. Seto was so shocked by his outburst, that he actually called the aide back with the most sincere apology he could muster.

It sounded pathetic to his own ears, maybe because he had not bothered himself with it before, or maybe it was the fact that he had been reduced

to throwing food as if he were a spoiled child caught in a tantrum. She gave him a bitter role of eyes, slammed a new tray of food down at his table, and

stormed out. Unprofessional, maybe, but it still stung. That was something new to Kaiba as well.

The only one who seemed to even tolerate him, besides Mokuba, was the night nurse, and Seto had more than a nagging suspicion it was

only because she delivered his nightly sleeping pill. She probably eagerly anticpated him shutting the hell up for a few hours. He looked forward to his nightly

pill, if only for the oblivion it offered him. Anything was better than facing his decay, and himself on a daily basis. And, in the end, he realized, with infinite

sadness, that he had nobody to blame but himself. Hell, who would want to put up with somebody who lashed out at everyone so blindly, as if he

were a wounded animal, and not a human with some damn sense to know better?

Where was his regal restraint? Where was his cool veneer of defiance? Where was the masks he could hide behind, and why, now of all times, when

his time was so limited, did he feel the need to flee, to hide, to bolt in frenzied abandon to whatever distraction would take him away from all of this?

And why in the hell was he finally figuring out what a petty tyrant he was, so close to the end of his life, when he had so little time to repair the damage done?

His head throbbed with the torment of sudden awareness, his fists clenched against his temples, and he shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

It could have been a good day, actually. His pain was at a minimum, and he didn't feel quite as shaky as the night before. And staying in this room,

staring at these four walls, and expecting them to provide any wisdom would not do anything to stave off his demons, or halt the mental knots he kept

weaving into one punishing noose.

With a sigh, he pressed the call button, and folded his arms over his chest, waiting. He heard footsteps, and saw the aide timidly lingering in the doorway.

He inwardly cringed with guilt when she politely inquired, "Yes, Mr.Kaiba? Did you need something?" with leery anticipation of a verbal beating.

His brow furrowed, as he raised an eyebrow. "If you would be so kind as to assist me to my wheelchair, I would be grateful...miss."

He almost flushed with embarrassment. His attempt at politeness sounded so forced, and false, and his only reward for his out of character courtesy was a strange look

from the aide as she manuvered his wheelchair bedside, and lowered the rails. He dragged himself forward, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and waited patiently for her to tuck her shoulder underneith his extended arm. She was a large woman, as sturdy as a warhorse, and strong, but Kaiba was several inches taller and he had to stoop in order for her to support him. With detachment, she gently hooked the gaitbelt around his narrowed waist, and together, after a count of three, hauled him to his wobbling feet. There was the brief and alarming sensation of the floor wilting beneith his feet, as she spun him carefully, and he bent his legs to seat himself in the waiting chair. She unclipped the belt, wound it back and tucked it neatly into her scrub pocket, as she stood, waiting for his further demands.

She was clearly irritated by waiting. "Do you strong enough to wheel yourself, or do you need assistance, Mr. Kaiba?" He gripped the silver rims of the chair between his

fingers, and propelled himself forward. "I should be able to move myself." She dismissed herself with a nod, but stiffened in suprise when she heard Kaiba's soft murmur of

"Thank you." She had to force her mouth to remain shut as she left the room.

Seto wasn't exactly sure he planned on going, actually. It was rather monotonous to wheel himself around the endless coridors, and dodge the gurneys that flew past, or

occasionally another resident. It wasn't too long that he found himself at the entrance of the waiting room, the endless, ugly plastic chairs in stark contrast to the cold, glittering white of the tile and the irritating flourescent bulbs that glowered down on everything.

It was the sound of sobbing that drew his attention, the hushed strain that permiated everything in horrible waiting, the stricken family members huddled together as if

seeking protection against the unbearable suffering of their loved one who had probably gone through those same doors that he himself was wheeled to a few days before.

He grimaced when he pictured Mokuba in one of those chairs, hunched over and helpless, and so tortured by the waiting, and the helplessness. Had he put Mokuba through this? Had Yami, despite his pretentiousness, actually worried about him? It was an intriging thought, it was just a shame he never had the guts to ask.

Yami would doubtless consider that an invasion, anyway.

Idly, he rolled himself forward, and heard the snatches of conversation from the weeping mother who cradled a bewildered looking child in her shaking arms, and the elderly looking gentleman who helplessly pat her quivering back.

"--said that there's no hope...if the insurance won't cover it, they won't operate...I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Dad! We can't lose her...Oh,God, what am I supposed to do?!"

The old man muttered something he could not entirely make out, "she won't die, if they caught it in time...have faith, child...maybe a miricle can happen, yet..."

The woman shook her head, and raised a pale face ravaged with tears, 'But how, Dad?! I can't lose my child, I can't stand the thought of her brother not knowing who his

sister is...I'd give anything to trade places with her, she's so young..."

"I know, dear, I know. Maybe my loan will clear, and we'll have money enough to cover the operation..."

"She's just a child, Dad...she's only six! What did she do to deserve this?! A tumor? Why is this happening to her?!"

Seto tilted his head, his mouth working into a considering frown, as he pondered them for a long moment. He slowly wheeled himself over to the plexiglass office window of the admissions, where he saw a tired looking receptionist shuffling papers. He cleared his throat to get her attention, then politely waited for her to speak.

"Yes, sir, how may I help you?" He smirked, cooly as he removed his wallet, and slid it to her, showing the i.d. Her eyebrows climbed high, as she stared at him.

"Mr. Kaiba?" She whispered in awe. He did not smile back, but nodded his head. "The one and only, yes. I hope you can answer a few questions for me?"

She gulped. "Yes, sir. I can certainly try..." She answered uncertainly, as she sat back, waiting.

"I want you to charge to my account that family's medical bills,and I want to stay anonymous. Can you do that?" He raised a peeved eyebrow at her stammering.

"Mr. Kaiba? Are you sure? That's a lot of-" "Money. I know." He finished sarcastically. "Hell, while I'm at it, you might as well bill me for anybody else that comes tonight, that can't pay it. Again, I want to remain nameless. Do you understand?"

She slowly nodded. "You'd have to fill out some paperwork, sir." "Fine, then. I might as well, while I'm here."

"May I ask why you're doing this, sir?" He stared up at her, considering. "Because I can. What other reason do I need?"


	12. Mercy

It was the shadows he hated the most...empty things that reflected the darkness of the solid objects, things that fled from the light like cockroaches, bitter things bound by darkness, because they had to be. As he had to be. He glanced down at his wanning body, the tether that kept him anchored to the world slowly shedding itself, unrelentless, regardless of what medical intervention, prayer, or power he called upon.  
He was going to die, and he knew it. He had known it, from the pinched white, strained kindness of the doctor's face who first told him, to the relunctant surrender, the tortured progress, from walking, to sitting, to being wheeled about, to eventually a bed-bound existance. He felt much like a caged tiger, his mind still sharp and fierce, his sarcasm honed to shield himself from the barbs and the stares and the unearned hatred of so many, even though he had done nothing to anybody, really. Granted, he had been a snob and an egotistical ass to many. The accusation that he was heartless was not exactly true, but from the indifference and the sneers, that he had so miserably honed out of necessity were honestly too brutal of a cover and a mantle to tear away now.

But, he was shedding that, as well. Shedding his identity, his flesh, his time, unwilling, but unable to stop, as he rolled himself down the dark corridors of the hospital, for the first time glancing at the suffering around him, with a quirked eyebrow. He never, ever imagined himself here. Life had once been an endless race against time, but he never thought that it would have such an ending. Seto Kaiba, dead at thirty-three from lung cancer? It was the fodder of tabloids, and here it was, swallowing his life.

(A/N: I know in the first chapter that I made Seto 38, but that was really more of a typo, than anything else. I don't think it really matters what age you are, if you are faced with death, you are never too old for it.)

He smirked, briefly, when he recalled the shriek of pure joy that errupted from that young mother, how her eyes flooded with tears, and how the grandfather only slumped in exhausted relief now that the strain was over, and his granddaughter would live. From the coy wink of that receptionist, that was so brief, it almost didn't happen, he knew that it was definitely appreciated. And, he wasn't exactly sure why he cared, anyway.  
Maybe it was because his own existance would be severed too soon, and he was haunted by that thought.  
He believed in an afterlife, certainly. His views of religion had at one time, been nothing but contempt, and scorn for those sad saps who made themselves dependent on figments of imagination.

It was a brutal wake-up call indeed to realize that for all his toys, and power, it did not matter one bit with his coming deadline. He winced at both the stupid pun he had made, and the humbling admission that there was Somebody out there bigger than him that he had sneered at and ignored for most of his life.

He had little patience for religious exhortation, and the idea of church repelled him. But, he did find a strange bit of peace in the sacred stillness of the hospital chapel, with its regal stained glass, and the absolute indifference of rank or identity from those who were huddled in the benches and praying. Perhaps it was the fact that all the prayers he heard here, were on behalf of somebody else, and so tormentingly real. He had yet to hear anybody that found themselves here begging the Almighty for favor, or riches, or power. They simply wanted their loved ones healed, and strength to get through whatever darkness illness had unleashed upon them.

Faith. It was a strange concept, as well. So frail, so dependent on the powers of Somebody more powerful than he.  
Grace. He considered that nothing more than the gumption to make it through the rest of his pitiful months without being a total ass to the rest of the world.

Solace. The ability to forget his pain for a while, or at least rest in knowing that it wouldn't follow him once he breathed his last.

Absolution. It was the dissolving of all the haunted thoughts that so tormented him to the point of downing almost thirty pills and robbing Mokuba of their time together.

And finally...peace- the unchanging knowledge that no matter what the hell happened, it was ending.

With an ironic shrug, Seto winced with sudden understanding at the ornate cross that spread so wide over the ceiling. The Almighty had lost one of His own, too.

Yami was struck anew with how both alike, and how different the two Kaibas were. Mokuba had definitely grown into his own path, with little heed, or interference from Seto, other than he not to do anything exceedingly stupid, and that he allow Seto to help him with whatever struggled had come along the way. Yami wasn't exactly sure what sort of brother Seto was to his younger sibling, but seeing Mokuba so stricken with grief was proof enough that the two loved each other deeply.

Mokuba was misery personified, from the red-rimmed eyes, to the weary, resigned bitterness that twisted his merry mouth into a frown. Yami knew he was hurting enormously, but was relunctant to probe, not only out of respect, but because he honestly did not know how much more entrenched in these wretched times he would be dragged into.

So, they sat in perfect, but companionable silence in the small Moto's kitchen. Yugi had invited him over to escape some of the barren emptiness of the mansion, and Mokuba had gratefully accepted, bringing with him a fully catered meal. It was a lavish feast, and Yugi was amused by his grandfather's reaction to coming home from the game shop and seeing the small dining room table laden with practically the manna of heaven itself. After a polite, quiet meal, Mokuba had joined both Yugi and Yami in the living room.

Yugi had made quite an elaborate production of both yawning, and his excuses of homework as he politely excused himself and barrelled upstairs without even a backward glance at Yami. It was so awkward, and strained, as Mokuba offered a tenative smile.

"Thanks for having me over. It's nice to be away from all this stuff for a while. And, thanks especially for being there for Seto, Yami. I know he won't thank you very much, but you're doing a lot of good just being there."

Yami's sideways glance and sceptically heaved sigh was not exactly a most promising reaction, but none of Seto's stupidity and viciousness was Mokuba's fault.

"I thank you, Mokuba, but you seem to be very troubled. What exactly is on your mind?" Yami rocked back on his haunches, patiently, as he gave Mokuba all attention except for chewing ice from his glass of soda. For the life of him, Yami could not understand why he loved gnawing on it so much, but there was something captivating about the cold splintering over his tongue and sliding down his throat.

Mokuba sighed heavily, and allowed himself to slide into a weary slump in the comfort of the cushions. "I'm so afraid, Yami. I don't know exactly what Seto wants me to do about any of this. I mean, what if he reaches the point where he can't do anything, any more? What if something happens, and it falls on me to decide what treatments he gets, or what he wouldn't want done? I mean, I need to know what he wants done, I know. But, when I finally get the guts to talk to him about it, he either dismisses it, or he just tells me not to worry about it. It's so awful! When he needs me the most, I can't even talk to my own brother. I don't remember a time when we've ever been so distant, Yami, and I don't want it to be this way...especially if we don't have much time...left."

Mokuba wiped away a tear with a knuckle of his balled fist, and allowed his bangs to fall over his face like a concealing curtain.

"Mokuba..." Yami's rich voice was soft and low, as he leaned forward, with compassion.

"I don't think it's so much a matter of Seto not wanting you involved...I think, in his own way, he feels like he is protecting you from the burdens by not saying anything. I don't believe he means to hurt you, but he may just be so consumed by all that is happening...I think he is allowed to be a bit caught up in the distractions..." He flushed, and cringed at how stupid and cruel his last words were.

Mokuba gave him a sharp look, but did not deem it necessary to reply.

"I...apologize, Mokuba. I am not trying to add to your grief. But, in this case...I honestly don't believe that there is a right choice, only certain wrong ones...choices that are made from selfishness, or fear. Unless you, or Seto are deliberately setting forth with the intention of wounding, then all you can really do is let your love for each other guide your choices, and let it go."

Yami's hands were draped over his knees, as he leaned forward to study Mokuba's reaction, hesitant to continue, if it pained.

Mokuba's eyes glowed from the dark fringe of his bangs, before he leaned back with a heavy sigh, crossing his arms, and casting his eyes skyward.

"Have you ever been in this situation, Yami? Because you have no idea how much you've helped me just now. That was what I needed to hear."

Mokuba's radiating smile reappeared, before it fell again. "Seriously, Yami...have you been in a situation like this? I just thought as long as you've been around, you've at least had to say goodbye to somebody..."

Mokuba saw Yami flinch, and close his eyes, for a moment, before he opened them again. Mokuba blanched when he saw the raw pain that glittered in their depths, as well as the sad understanding, as Yami answered, softly.

"The one thing that I will never understand, about this modern age is both the godlike power you have in delaying death from injury and illness that would have killed so many in ancient Egypt, but the expectation that if you intervene enough, death can be stopped. Death was accepted, even celebrated. We did not view it as a seperation, but a journey. I do not know if that comforts you, or not, but I do know the kindest thing you can do for Seto is listen to him, and allow him to share in this struggle instead of trying so nobly to protect each other. If you believe your brother is suffering because he fears the seperation death may cause, do you not think it wise to stop seperating yourselves from each other when you need each other the most?" 


	13. The Homecoming Part I

It was only after a brutal battle that left him fatigued, and sweaty that Seto was forced to admit he was too weak to remain upright, and dress himself. He had succeeded in pulling on his customary slacks up to his hips, but the struggle to remain upright under the strain of so much quivering weakness had finally reduced him to collapsing on the bed in a humiliated, panting heap.

He was pleased, at least that he was no longer forced to wear a hospital gown. He had never considered them to be anything but an added humilation, but in the days of sickness, and the hazy, drugged moments he had lingered in the hospital bed itself...he had come to loathe them, both from flimsy material that left him feeling vulnerable to being viewed without his consent, and the absolute helplessness that was enforced upon him. He recoiled with a flinch the agonized

feeling of that tube sliding down his throat, his stomache being pumped, being held down like a gutted animal, as so many faces and gloved hands, and bright lights enveloped him with

paralysing torpor.

It was certainly a humbling experience, one he loathed to repeat. With a grimace, he tapped the call light button, to summon an aid to help him get dressed.

That unpleasant task being done, there was little to do but wait for Mokuba to arrive. He had few items with him, of course. There was certainly nothing he could not replace, only a silver framed photo of him and his younger brother, a Bible, a few get-well cards from his business associates, and his clothes.

Seto thought he had mentally prepared himself for whatever reaction Mokuba would have to him returning home. He had rehearsed every outcome, gone through every tortured avenue of thought, berated himself for his foolishness, and his weakness for giving in. To have those horrible shackles flung at him from his own flesh and blood would probably kill him, if not break his heart. It was too late to undo any of it. Mokuba had already offered him forgiveness, and Seto hoped to the core of his being that it was freely given, and he could move beyond this horrible aftermath of guilt and despair. It was a bittersweet realization to learn that not only did suicide not absolve him of his fears, it only made the waking after the delusions more complex and painful.

The aid reappeared with a timid knock, interupting his tortured musings with a polite nod.

"Mr. Kaiba, it is time for your discharge, sir." He gave her a bitter smile.

"Thank you." His voice was still raw and harsh from the abuse his throat took from the tubing, and the multiple episodes of forced regurgitation. Seto stared at the ceiling above him with the solemn promise that his exit from the world would sure as hell never involve ingesting any substance that would hurt so much coming back up.

He heard footsteps by his door, watched with a raised eyebrow in suprise as Yami appeared, and lingered, clearly ill at ease, and eyeing Seto with narrowed, wary eyes.

Yami visibly shuddered when Seto wheeled himself forward, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted in irritation, in silent but obvious demand for an explanation.

When said explanation did not come forth as quickly as Seto prefered, he settled for roaring out at Yami, "What in the hell are you doing here?! Where is Mokuba?"

Yami flinched as if he had been slapped, bowed his head, and actually bit his lip, as it twisted in his teeth for a long, worried moment. Relunctantly, he raised pacifying hands in a placating gesture, before he spoke, almost apologetically.

"Mokuba is waiting for you at home, Seto. He...wanted to prepare a bit for your...homecoming."

The words were muttered with a bowed head, before Yami raised his chin and stared at Seto, warily.

"While it is clearly not my place to say anything about this, Seto, I feel that I must warn you:

Mokuba is extremely distressed over...your recent...actions, and he was unsure of how to help you." Yami delivered the unwelcome information after a brief inner debate of using either compassion, or the cold, brutal truth, delivered with masked indifference.

Seto's face contorted for a moment, before he snarled, "So how the hell did you get roped into being my brother's delivery boy, Yami?! How the hell did your involvment give you such an honor?!"

Yami's showed a remarkable amount of self-restraint, since he neither flinched, nor even bothered himself to back down. Seto noted, however, that Yami's eyes turned bitterly frigid, as he strode forward, with his hands on his hips.

"I got involved with this whole debacle the moment I found you laying in a pool of your own vomit on the floor, and was too stupidly compassionate to walk away and leave you! But, if you continue this pathetic bleating like some whipped cur on the drive home, I promise that you will not have to worry about how your demise will come about! Now, kindly shut the hell up!!"

Seto's eyes bulged with shock, as Yami uncermioniously turned on his heel, yanked open the car door, and stepped back so that Seto's aid could settle him into the velvet seat. The driver glanced back uncertainly, seeking direction, as Yami only barked out, "The Kaiba mansion, if you please, sir." By then, Seto was buckled in, and fuming as Yami slid into the seat across from him, his eyes still storming over, and his jaw set like a trap ready to spring. Yami continued his rant as if there were no interuption.

"I care very little for what your oppinion is about my involvement, Seto, because you are either too egotistical, selfish, or downright stupid to understand the most balant truth, even if it was literally forced down your throat! If you want to commit suicide, there is little that anybody can do to stop you. But, if you think for one moment that your passing is not going to drag Mokuba down with you,..."

Seto sighed in disgust, as he raised an eyebrow, "And how the hell would you know this, Yami?

You can't die, remember?"

With a sneer, Kaiba chuckled. "Do you really envy my dying that much, Yami? Are you so entrenched with this because you hope to live vicariously?"

Yami just shook his head in disgust. "If I ever do have the chance to live again, Seto, I hope I am slightly more than a selfish bastard whose sole purpose seems to be either throwing guilt at everybody else, or dancing around the fact that he can't face himself or the mess he's made.

Seto, do you really think Mokuba wasn't affected by you trying to kill yourself? Do you honestly think that he's going to welcome you back, all of this forgiven, and forgotten? Or are the last months you have together going to be forever tainted with his fear that he'll find you dead by your own hand?"

Yami sighed deeply, almost apologetically at Seto's clenched features, as the remorse rose so sudden,and unbidden.

"Why are you here, really, Yami? Is it because Mokuba couldn't stand the thought of facing me?"

Seto's tortured question lingered between them, as Yami sighed, and shook his head, turning away.

Seto's face hardened at the confirmation, as he sat back with a dead scowl. "So, it is true, then. Why the did I bother discharging from the hospital if all I have to come back to is gone?"

Yami waved his hand, shook his head again. "No, no, Seto. Don't...you misunderstand me.

It has nothing to do with Mokuba not being able to face you at all. It's just that he doesn't know how. You both spend so much time trying to hide from each other that neither one of you can really be open and honest without the need for self-protective masks. Seto, I know this is not my place, and, believe me, I am extremely apologetic for how my role has spiraled so out of control with this situation. But, if you love Mokuba..."

Yami's eyes grew soft with compassion, as he allowed a small smile of understanding.

"The only thing you'll be leaving him is the memories, and what you teach him now, Seto.That will be all he has to cling to. Don't squander this chance by assuming he cannot handle any more of the truth, or that you're not able to talk to him. Surely the pain of hiding all of these wounds is not worth the chance to make this right between you. "

Seto craned his neck to stare at the peaks of the mansion as it slowly glided into view.


	14. A Partial Absolution

Author's Note: The poem here is a fragment of a longer one. If anybody is interested in seeing the full version, I'll post it. I am looking for suggestions for a new title, because it doesn't seem to fit. And, to clear up any confusion, I also write under the pen name of Hielo Warrenbeck. My real name is almost as weird as Caleigho and Hielo, and my last name is truly a mouthful.

To The Bitter End-

Of ghost and shadows, memories that haunted

The bitter aftermath of all I ever wanted

Tears I've wept in secret penance

Anguish I could not give more than a wince

Shadows weave their torpid path across the arching light

Stripping away all pretense-

Regardless of all that I have tried to hide-

And all that I have tried to make right-

Regret, and guilt, the beasts that grow teeth-

To mutilate the careless words-

Refracted from the yielding heart, now cold, and hard

Falling tears in all that was said, all that was heard-

Shattering the mirror, and leaving its shards

With teeth braced back in a futile snarl

Passing this useless time for but a while

Unable to make up my mind

If I should bother with a smile

Or tremble in loathing of what I may find-

The wounds we share, woven so deep-

Cutting to the bone, the marrow, the flesh-

Yet dancing light across this torpid imitation of sleep

And vanishes like my last breath-

Hielo Warrenbeck-

Mokuba jerked when he heard the beaconing sound of the limo gliding up the long path, sliding behind the towering oaks, and climbing the last stretch up

hill to the mansion's spiraling driveway. Rolland rose to his feet, faithfully watching the door, silent as a statue as he gave the youngest Kaiba a smile of

reassurance. Mokuba gave him a grateful smile in return, as he rose uncertainly to his feet, and forced himself to walk down the spiraling stairwell to greet

his brother.

It was truly an awkward situation for Yami, as he watched the driver smartly unlock the long, sleek trunk of the limo, and unfold the glittering, metallic

wheelchair, and was now waiting for Seto at the car door like a perverse throne.

There had been been nothing but terse, icy silence between Seto and Yami for the remainder of the ride. Seto had drawn himself up in a dismissing scowl

that started sliding into fear, and then outright torment the moment the mansion appeared. Yami kept his eyes riveted to the floor, not caring to invite any

more sarcasm, or bitter questions from Seto, but soon realized there would be none to be had, since the target of Seto's volitility was now his own shame.

It was unnerving to see the once icy, distant...almost inhuman CEO look so...afraid. Yami tactfully averted his eyes, and paid Seto no more heed.

To even attempt to assage the viciousness of Seto's guilt was impossible, not to mention unwise, given his irratic mood swings, and storming emotions.

Yami did not bother attempting to piece together what sort of pain must be curling in Seto's gut to make him tense so suddenly, or look so openly wounded.

But to see Seto in so much torment warrented saying something. Yami felt compelled.

"Seto." His name was forced out, almost unwillingly, as Seto wrenched his gaze away, to look at Yami, troubled. Seto quirked an eyebrow, summoned enough

smug veneer to continue.

"Yes?" Came the sarcastic answer, as Seto crossed his arms in a pitiful attempt at mimicking irritation. Inwardly, he trembled.

There was a deep, considering sigh from Yami, as he looked down, uncertain of how to continue. Awkwardly, he strung the words together, hoping they might

resinate without wounding even more, regardless of where the blame lay.

"What you did..." Seto flinched for a tortured moment before his face slid back the mask of cool, distaining disregard. But he said nothing.

Yami plunged onward, before he lost the nerve or the words. "It is not unforgivable."

Seto templed his forehead in his hands, head bowed, as if he were already condemned. With no sarcasm left to spew, no veneer to hide behind, he raised his sad,

weary eyes to Yami, so raw and naked in their anguish. Yami gulped that Seto had allowed him to _see.._

"It is if I can't forgive myself." Seto's voice- normally so silky and laced with confidence, was heart-breaking in its resignation, and flat delivery.

"Seto-" Yami's hand was raised in a futile desperate gesture, as Seto negated it with a desperate, futile gesture of his own.

"Don't." It was a cold, searing command, edged with sharp teeth, cutting them both to the core, leaving them open to bleed in their collective helplessness.

"There isn't a damn thing you can do to fix any of this, Yami, so don't even try." Kaiba's curt warning was emphasized by the harsh curl of pain in his lip as he forced himself forward to rise. Seto fought the urge to collapse, forced his torpid limbs to march to the chair, as he attempted to lower himself elegantly, in his old manner, only to

land with a humilated flop as his legs gave way beneith him. Yami heard the sharp intake of breath from the pain, the masterful way that Seto turned the sudden, stricken wince into a snarl, forced all traces of agony to fade to his characteristic anger with the world. Seto forced his spine to straighten in submission, giving no allowance to the tremoring fit that gripped every muscle, or the cloying weakness that was so infuriatingly visible to Yami.

Indeed, Yami looked at him, torn, clearly wanting to offer help, but restraining himself after seeing the wary, defiant, almost pleading glare of the CEO to keep away, leave him be, let him _pretend..._

Seto waved away the driver's attempt to push the wheelchair, irritably, and with a grunt, heaved the chair forward over the pavement, and wheeled himself up the path.

"Driver, if you'd be so gracious, please take Mr. Moto home. And as a token of my appreciation for helping Mokuba, make sure he and his family eat well tonight."

Seto rolled forward without a backward glance, and Yami found the car door shut with finality in his face.

The door was flung open, wide, but rather than Mokuba's expected jubilation, Seto's sibling could only manage a polite, strained, forced smile as he lifted flacid arms in

a token attempt at a hug. It was nothing of the fierce,loyal embrace that Seto had expected. Hell, none of this was what Seto expected.

Mokuba's eyes swept over Seto in wary examination, and his brow furrowed at his brother's strained hands against the rims of the wheel.

"Let me, Seto." It was a quiet command, broaching no room for argument, and Seto lurched backwards in suprise, both at the fact Mokuba did not wait for permission, and the sudden, brutal way his chair was propelled forward by Mokuba's forceful stride, and the biting silence.

"Mokuba, I can move myself." Seto barked out in irritated suprise, only to have the chair beneith him abruptly jerk to a halt. Seto was flung forward at the viciously sudden stop, and gripped the armrests to keep himself from falling out. He rounded on Mokuba with helpless fury, ready to roar at his brother's carelessness, but was silenced by the burning white of Mokuba's clenched face, and the eerie calm that settled over him with folded arms and distancing regard.

"Then do it, Seto." Mokuba dropped his arms from the chair, and stepped away, waiting. Seto visibly recoiled, wrenching his neck around to peer at his brother in suprise at the cold sarcasm. Seto's brow was furrowed in troubled confusion.

"Mokuba? What-"

"Are you going to wheel yourself, or am I, Seto?"

The rude interuption surpised Seto into silence.

Seto flinched as if he had been slapped, and Mokuba only glared down at him, shook his head in disgust, huffed the bangs away from his face.

"What is it going to be, Seto? Are you going to do this yourself, like you have everything else, or are you going to let me in and help you for once?"

Seto snarled in hurt suprise, "Why don't we quit debating about who the hell has the privledge of pushing this damn wheelchair, and you tell me what's really going on,

Mokuba?"

Mokuba grimaced as if he had tasted something disgusting. "Do you _really_ want to know what is going on, Seto, or will I find you snarfing down more pills if it's too much for you to handle?"

Seto crumbled, as if Mokuba had lopped him off at the knees and left him bleeding...which, in a perverse way, he did.

"Would it have been easier for you if I had succeeded, Mokuba? Is that what you _really _want?" The icy whisper was just as cold from Seto's wound, to Mokuba's

shudder of involuntary pain. But, it was a dagger to Mokuba's heaving, clenched gut to see Seto bury his head in shaking hands, and rub his temples in helpless surrender.

"Either you forgave me, or you didn't. Either you forgive me now, or you don't. I'm not going to beg for something you're not going to give me, Mokuba. But, how much punishment do I have to have before you believe that I'm sorry?"

Seto sat back, and sighed in weary, resigned sorrow, before he looked up at Mokuba, his saphire eyes burning with so much pain, and loss, that Mokuba had to look away.

"It's not just the cancer that's breaking me, Mokuba." Seto whispered with a distainful shrug.

"And how much punishment do I have to endure from you pushing me for you to believe that I'm not going to break, Seto?" Mokuba's question was harsh from his jaws grinding together in restraining the sobs that were clawing at all his quivering instincts to surrender and scream and end this misery.

It was the agonizing, paralyzed wince that flitted across Seto's contrite features that almost broke him, right then. But, it vanished as Seto stiffened, furious.

"I wasn't trying to push you away, I was trying to protect you, damn it! I didn't want you getting sucked down in all this pain, pissing your life away because mine happens to be ending! I'm sorry if I'm handling this whole impending demise so poorly! I'm so fing sorry I don't have the wisdom in how to deal with any of this s right! I hope that when your time comes, Mokuba, you do a better job! Hell, maybe you can learn from me on what not to do when you find out _you're_ dying!"

The rant had cost him dearly, as he hitched in pain, and wilted. Of all the damn times for the pain to act up. Seto choked down the whimper, as he sighed, trembling.

"Just leave me alone, Mokuba. This is too raw and fresh for us to do anything but scream at each other tonight."

Seto bit his lip, feeling his precious control erroding from the weight of those dark eyes glittering down at him with such piercing awareness.

"You're hurting again, aren't you?" Mokuba's quiet question was asked with more restrained curiosity than actual regard, as Seto fought the urge to shove him away, to stop the prying, the searching, the constant threat to his last bastian of pride.

"Leave it alone, Mokuba." Seto's voice was laced with the threat of sobs, as he slumped in anguish, his strength failing, the humiliation crawling up his spine, heating his cheeks in betraying flame, as he folded helpless arms over his bent body, and stared up at Mokuba.

"Just for tonight, leave it alone." His voice was so tortured, as he added the whispered "Please."

Mokuba sighed, wearily, a sad, accepting smile gracing his tired face. "I'll leave this alone, for tonight, Seto. But only for tonight. If you give me a moment, I'll get you a dose of your pain pills. But-" his eyes narrowed in warning. "I'm keeping the bottle with me."

Seto managed a tolerant smile. "Fine. But give me the maximum, if you don't mind." In the distraction of their ranting, neither had time to deal with the small pile of luggage that sat in a tidy arrangement by the door. Mokuba soon had both arms buried in the depths of the patent leather bag, rumaging for the bottle of pills, before he emerged with a triumphant smirk. He worked the lid off, and shook out three pills, with a flourish, neatly depositing them in Seto's waiting hand.

"Water?" Mokuba watched as Seto tilted his head back, and downed the pills with a swallow. "Not necessary. I've had practice in downing more than that."

Mokuba's eyebrows crinkled high on his forehead, before he shook his head, and snickered, nervously. "That is a very, very bad joke, Seto."

Seto smiled, wearily. "Yes, but I'd prefer bad jokes over useless tears. At least then _some_ good would come out of this."

"Why did you do it, Seto?" Mokuba's sudden question hit him like a whiplash, and he stiffened, warily. "I thought we agreed to leave it alone, Mokuba." Seto grimaced at how close to a whine his retort sounded.

"You brought it up." Mokuba answered, with a raised eyebrow and a pointed huff, as he sat back with arms crossed.

"And this can't wait?"

Mokuba shook his head, grimly. "I think we've avoided talking about this long enough, Seto. I'm not asking you because I want to hurt you. But, it seems to me that maybe..." Mokuba sighed, shook his head, the tears rising again, "Maybe all this could have been avoided in the first place if you had just admitted that you were overwhelmed, and let somebody help you instead of just snapping and trying to end it all. I mean...you've always been so strong. I just can't understand what would be so bad that you'd rather die than face it. It's not like you, Seto."

Seto looked up at him, helpless, and furious at himself for being so. Couldn't Mokuba fathom how horrendous it was for him to see all of his life being slowly erroded, and the only certainty in all this was that it was going to get far worse? Exactly how in the world could he explain the numbing, crushing terror that gripped him when he comtemplated the end, no matter how much he alternated between his strange faith in God, and the sweet, rare moments of peace in all this turmoil? How much more was he going to pay for one stupid mistake?

"I'll try to explain it, if you promise to try and understand it.Deal?" Mokuba nodded, as he sat back on his haunches. Seto sighed, uncertain of where to begin. From the grim, resolute line that his lips twisted into, Mokuba knew that it was extremely awkward, probably humiliating for Seto to do this. He was never able to divulge his inner workings well, not even to Mokuba.

"Despite the evidence to the contrary, I actually planned it out. It wasn't just a blind, stupid act of desperation, but one deliberate act that was thought out, rehearsed, planned, and almost successful, Mokuba."

Mokuba worried his lower lip between his teeth, before asking, "But what exactly drove you to it, Seto? What finally broke you to the point that you decided that was the only thing left to be done?"

Seto sighed, tolerantly. "A little patience, please, Mokuba. I'm getting to that."

"You have to understand, Mokuba. There never was one defining point where I just broke down, or any single factor that drove me to do something so thoughtless. It was losing everything, it was being powerless, and forcing you to watch me die...It just rattled me to the core, the idea of being subjected to so much uncertain bull---- and not

having any option but to either go through it with nothing to help me, or choosing the ending on my own terms. I swear to you, Mokuba, I won't ever do anything like this again. I won't rob you of our time together, however limited it may be. I won't run from the truth again. I can't afford to. You deserve better than that from me."

Mokuba only wrapped Seto in an embrace of complete acceptance and forgiveness, murmuring in his brother's ear, "All my life, you've watched out for me, and helped me, Seto. For once, let me pay you back for some of that. I'm here for you, and I'm going to stand by you through this. I know that you're worried about what's going to happen afterwards...how I'll cope, and survive. But, Seto..." Mokuba gripped both of Seto's quivering shoulders between firm, but gentle hands, and lowered his head to meet his eyes in resolve.

"You need to understand that how I cope is my responsibility. I know that I'll get through it, because you gave me the strength to. Don't worry so much about what happens after all this is over. That's my responsibility, too. I don't know what the future holds for either one of us. It's not for us to know, and I don't think it's because God wants to torture you, or anything. I think it's so we don't live in so much useless fear of what we can't control. And I'm tired of being afraid, Seto."

Seto just stared at his younger brother, wondering how he had missed the fact that Mokuba was now a mature adult. He raised an eyebrow, blinked back touched tears.

"How the hell did you get to be so wise, Mokuba?" Mokuba merely smiled.


	15. Cruelty

It was definitely an unpleasant arrangement, but the only one that was tolerable to Seto, and accepted by Mokuba. The Kaiba brothers were still at odds with each other, but thankfully, not always at each other's throats. They had forged their unspoken agreement since their reconciliation-Seto would allow Mokuba more access to the strange innerworkings that made him such a difficult person to live with, and Mokuba would try to accept it and leave it be. It was all they could do at the moment. One nagging, unrelenting fear that Mokuba never brought up was that Seto would fall into another depression and make another go at suicide. Despite the reassurances and the forgiveness on both sides, Mokuba never lost his fear, or his anguish at knowing how much Seto had suffered and how Seto seemed to cherish it, holding it so close, as a shield, as the only thing he had left...Mokuba no longer knew. So, in the rare event that Mokuba decided he needed a break from it all, even for a few hours, he had enlisted Yami's help in simply being at the Kaiba mansion to ...watch Seto, though he never put it that way to either one of them.

When he told Seto that he wanted Yami to come over-"but only with your permission, Seto!" he was suprised, delighted, and alarmed to see Seto's weary shrug, and muttered answer of "I don't care, do what you want"  
as his brother yawned bleerily from his chair. Seto had downed an extremely mild sedative, and Mokuba had more than a nagging suspicion that Seto would have agreed to let Mokuba shave his head and tattoo "Blue-Eyes Dragon" across his forehead. Seto was definitely wanning tonight, and Mokuba shook his head sadly. It was more than just the pill making him tired.

With a promise and a wave of his hand, Seto sent Mokuba on his way, barking out that Yami was perfectly capable of finding his own damn way in, and he didn't really care either way.

Mokuba watched as Seto turned the chair towards the window, and raised his cerlian eyes to view the bleed of sunset and the oncoming night. Seto felt the eyes on him, looked over his shoulder, with a rare, soft smile. "I'll be fine, Mokuba. Now, please-go out and enjoy yourself for a few hours before I throw you out myself."

Seto was haloed in the moonlight, and from the way the light slanted over his wanning cheekbones, and his eyes glowed up at Mokuba...it made his heart break. Seto yelped in suprise as Mokuba suddenly embraced him, and awkwardly pat him on the back.

"What brought this on, Mokuba?" Seto asked softly.

Mokuba said nothing, only shrugged, turned and bolted down stairs to greet Yami, escort him in, fill him in on the details of Seto's condition, (no change, except he's tired and pissy as usual!) and with a flurry of a handshake, bounded away like a deer, leaving Yami staring at the door he left, and then warily at the obviously shut door where Kaiba was taking refuge from the world. Yami debated, once again, if it were more intrusive for him to enter the room, or wait for Kaiba to set the boundaries. Wearily, Yami settled himself down on the couch, and resigned himself. It was going to be a long night.

Seto whimpered, since there was nobody to hear, anyway, as he felt the rising, churning in his gut. With bulging eyes, he frantically forced the chair forward with quick strokes towards the refuge of the bathroom, praying that he would make it in time before he wound up spewing all over the floor. He swallowed, eyes tearing up at the sudden tightness of his throat. It felt like he was choking down a volcano and he grimaced at the sudden burn of acid at the back of his throat. He awkwardly planted his legs, applied the breaks, and then, with scrambling fingers, hoisted himself up using the bathroom counter as leverage. He inched along, in anguish and humilation as he felt the threat rising again. He forced his feet to lurch along, but the cloying weakness was just too much. With a grunt, he lowered himself to his knees, and began to crawl forward, his bathrobe trailing behind him. But he couldn't even manage that. With a whimper, he began to slither forward on his belly, so cold against the bathroom tile.

It was the sound of his collapse that brought Yami running. Seto turned his head, and scowled to see Yami's face turn pale as he shivered in the unwanted memories of finding Seto-once again sprawled out, and helpless, before his eyes narrowed to see Seto's attempt to crawl again.

Seto heard Yami's concern as he stooped beside him, hands out and unwelcome as they clasped the front of the bathrobe and his pajama top in the attempt to force him upright.

"What is going on, Seto? Did you fall?"

Seto's face twisted, and his body convulsed away, as he tried so desperately to force it all away. Yami's eyebrows climbed even higher to see Seto's panicked jerk as he abruptly shoved Yami so hard that he staggered several steps backwards. And Yami was forced to watch, too stunned to move as Seto gripped the toilet's rim, and rose shakily, praying he would make it in time-

He didn't have the strength, or the time. As he lowered his head to the waiting water, his throat convulsed, his stomach errupted, and he nearly swooned with the sickening sensation of the explosive liquid that seared its way up his throat and out his mouth, and all over himself. Seto heaved, and heaved, and cringed at the raw, bleeding pain, the humilation, and shuddered with each new heave, wondering when the hellish quiver in his stomache would stop and what he would do about his filth covered cloths, and-

And, here, so brutal, and raw, was the truth baring down its claws and fangs, sinking into their hearts, leeching away any means of pretense, and protection.

It was the soft intake of breath, so loud in the waiting, hungry silence, silence that was so deep, and seperating, even though they were only a few feet apart.

It was the final shattering of the mask he had fought so valiently to wear, the stripping away of all his skin, the iron bandages over the silken scars, ripping off the just healed skin that so thinly veiled cuts beneith him,  
as he slowly bled to death. Hell, he would prefer it. It couldn't be more painful than this.

Yami had seen many, many acts of cruelty in his life, the aftermath of hurts, and memories, of trauma, of unanswered questions. But, his heart had never clenched in so much pain, nor was he ever stricken so speechless as he was in that horrible moment, when he finally forced his eyes to drink in Seto's torment.

Seto was finally broken.

"Don't!" It was somewhere between a snarl and a sob, fierce, and bitter and absolutely powerless, as Seto recoiled, trying so desperately to free himself from the concerned hands, from the shackles, from this thing that was engulfing him, and swallowing him, and killing him.  
Yami watched silently as Seto's slender, shaking hands slid up from the depths of the robe, and gripped the rim of the toilet with so much tenacity that his knuckles turned white, and his jaw was as set and clenched as the fists he was futily attempting to haul his twisted body upright. His legs slid uselessly behind him for a brief moment, as he propped himself up on elbows and grit his teeth with the effort to avoid having his face fall directly into the puddle of filth that was inches from his pinched, sweating forehead.

Seto almost passed out,and Yami lurched forward to when he saw him lose his grip on the steadying toilet seat and almost have his forehead collide with the porclin.

Seto waved a negating hand in the air between them, shook his head, reared his chin back, as if begging heaven for mercy, his throat tightening to choke it all down, before his mouth flung open wide, and he vomited.

Yami watched in horror as Seto reguritated the searing, bitter liquid in helpless heaves, all over his clothes until he was covered with filth, and quivering, sweating, and pale.

But it was Seto's reaction that broke Yami. Rather than rising, majestically wiping his mouth, and looking in triumph at being able to stand upright, Seto slithered downward, wilting. He curled his knees up, and his spine bent in tortured surrender, and Yami heard the unbelievable, but unmistakable sound of Seto's jagged breath, softly hissed out between his clamped jaws.

Seto was sobbing.

Seto's hands splayed into shields that attempted to shove Yami away from his defenses, only to curl up and grip his shirt in ever tightening coils of helpless anguish.

"N-No!! Leave me the hell alone, Yami!" Seto hissed out, stammering from the raw burn of his throat and his constricted breathing from the hitching that gripped his stomach.

"I'm not leaving anybody in this shattered state, Seto. Let me help you"  
Yami's calm, and quiet words were meant to be soothing, but they only ignited Seto even more.

"I'll only be shattered completely if you stop me from handling it in my own way, Yami. Now, get the hell away from me!" Seto weakly attempted to shove him away, met Yami's solid, unyielding shoulder, and let his hand flop to the floor in a useless gesture.

Yami's hands curled into fists that he stuffed uselessly under each arm, and he stood there over Seto, so tormented, trying and failing to see any way of helping without humiliating. Leaving Seto there to drown in his helpless, tortured misery and covered with his vomit was cruel. But, Yami blanched with the brutal realization that Seto might consider it nothing less than smug violation for him to intrude any more on such private suffering.

Seto nearly whimpered, but only bowed his head, heaved air, and shoulders, and back, curled his filthed knees to his chest, before he gave Yami a glare iced with helpless rage, and anguish.

"Congradulations, Yami. Why don't you call a few of your friends up and pop some popcorn to watch the show? Are you enjoying my humiliation as much as I am? Tell me, which look is better on me-dying cancer victim, suicide failing extroidinare, or covered in vomit and too weak to stand?! "

Seto lowered his head again, and Yami heard the strangled whisper, imploring.

"Go the hell away, Yami. Please...just-" Seto heard a disgusted sigh, and raised his head a crack over his folded arms to see Yami shake his head with narrowed eyes, as he spun on a heel and honored his request.

Seto stared, indifferently at the lingering silence that was no longer filled with his gagging, or the roar of sound in his ears, or the thundering beat of his heart. It was so suddenly empty, and the most vicious time for him to truly view himself as the hopeless wreck he always feared he's be reduced to.

He made no attempt to rise again, only drew his torpid limbs beneath his shivering body, with a grimace at the smell of the aftermath of his stomach's cruelty, and the bile and the tears. He felt unclean, and guilty, and so drained, as if his life had already fled and left behind this shell of flesh that betrayed him so viciously, and kept failing him...

He must look like a dying cockroach, he mused. Didn't insects always curl their legs up against their bodies in their deaththroes? Didn't they twitch and tremble when they were crushed, just as he seemed to right now? Didn't they lay so stiff and frozen, and indifferent as he felt right now? He sighed, wearily. Now, this was just getting too strange for his liking. But, he never thought he would ever consider the trade of being a dead cockroach to be more desirable than this, either.

His dark musings were cut short by Yami striding back to the bathroom with his arms full of towels, and a change of clothes.

Seto was so shocked to see him return, that he was speechless, as Yami angrily flung the pile in his arms over the counter where they fell into a small heap, before he whirled to face Kaiba, his eyes brewing over, and his mouth drawing itself into a dark, forbidding scowl.

"You will notice I did not bring popcorn, Seto." Yami was perversely satisfied to see Seto's wince, as he turned from his death grip on the toilet bowl to stare up at him, the confusion and the pain overriding any biting retort for the moment.

"If you consider it to be more dignified to lay in your own vomit and clutch that toilet as if you intend to marry it, so be it. Whenever you feel the need, there's a pile of towels and clothes for you, if and when you decide to move beyond this. I would offer to help you myself, but you're currently more volital than a volcano, and I don't have the endurance for another of your scalping sessions, Kaiba."

Yami only shook his head, in condemning, weary resignation, and crossed his arms, to lounge against the doorway.

Seto stared up at him, rather stupidly for a long moment. "What the hell are you doing?" It was an astonished whisper, as Yami only shifted to make himself more comfortable.

"You and I both know that this will take a while to resolve, and I see little point in pretending otherwise, don't you? Regardless of how much we outwardly loathe each other, it would be petty and wrong of me to leave you like this."

Seto, by then, had regained enough of his own rancor to retort with a sneer, "But, you don't consider it petty and wrong of you to watch me like this, and not enjoy it? Really, Yami, with all your ranting about morality, I would consider it beneith you to relish this."

Yami only sighed in all too familiar disgust. "Why do you keep insisting that I enjoy this, Kaiba? Tell me, exactly what is there for me to rejoice over, seeing you suicidal, seeing you vomit, and now...seeing you sobbing?"

Seto jerked in hurt suprise, before he could cover it with his rising veneer of sarcasm. He tried, and failed, miserably.  
Seto flinched, helplessly, as he shrugged, indifferently. "Draw whatever damn conclusion you prefer, Yami.  
I don't give a ---- any more. Hell, I don't even think I can give that, any more."

Yami slowly crouched beside him, warily noting the distance that Seto's eyes suddenly slid up towards him, widening with something akin to fear, boiling with some turmoil that not even Yami could specifically place.

"Tell me what is worse, Kaiba. Bearing all this alone, even though it's killing you, or bearing it all alone, when it's so unnecessary? Kindly look at this current situation."

Yami waved a scathing hand over the entire bathroom, before he rocked back on his heels. "How dignified is it, truly, to lay sprawled out on the bathroom floor, covered in your own stomach contents, and picking a fight with me because I brought you towels? At what point will you accept that an act of compassion is not always directed at you with a hidden motive to hurt you? Are you really so egotistical to believe that I- and the rest of the world-actually conspire to bring you down? If that is the case, Kaiba-"

Yami's voice dropped to a resigned snarl, as he shook his head, sadly condemning, and then rising, peering at Kaiba as if he were delivering the eulogy.

"If that is the case, Kaiba...God help you, you pompous ass, because I don't know of anyone else who will."

Kaiba watched Yami's retreating back, as he drifted into the shadows of the unlit hallway, before he choked out, as he wiped the filth from his mouth.

"How in the hell would you be handling this, then, Yami? Please, enlighten me with the great wisdom that you so freely lavish on the lowly, dying mortal."

Seto spat the words, and noted with grim satisfaction the stiffening of Yami's back as he turned over his shoulder to peer at him, guardedly.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you have any idea what I'm going through? I love how almost everybody seems to believe they know better than I do what I should be doing with my situation. Everytime I turn around, it's either some idiot offering sympathy, and constantly reminding me of my expiration date, or somebody actually calling my attention to the fact that I am, in fact a rich ---hole, and I'm getting exactly what I deserve. I know that I've acted like a bastard. I know. But, Yami-" 

Seto snorted with a bitter, heart-breaking chuckle. "Can you tell me of any bastard you would honestly wish this on? Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if it were true. I know that I have a lot to atone for. Who doesn't? But, do I really deserve this?"

Yami swallowed hard, as he slowly turned around, to peer down at Kaiba, stricken at the thought of anybody-dying or not- being treated so callously.

"People have actually...said this to you?"

Seto waved away his disbelief with another dismissing chuckle. "Why does it matter? It's either true, or it's not. It doesn't change anything, and I don't waste my time trying to sort out other people's personal b.  
I didn't before. Why start now?"

Yami only shook his head. "That's pure venom, Kaiba. It may be redundant to hear, but, no...you don't deserve this. Nobody deserves this."

Kaiba sighed, with a futile shrug. "I appreciate the sentiment, Yami, worthless though it may be. It changes nothing." 


	16. A Small Step

Seto stared up at Yami for a long moment, and Yami flinched in sympathy to see Seto's tortured inward war of fierce pride

verses obvious weakness. Seto sighed, ashamed and turned his head away, before his gaze fell on his soiled clothes, and the

disgusting vomit. He crinkled his nose at the smell, and grimaced when he saw that he had succeeded in covering himself from

his thighs to his collar bone. With a bitter note of irony, he noted that his stomache was still twisting in those cruel knots that

threatened more of the same, but he was grateful that the horrific urge to choke, and gag was gone, and left only his

raw, burning throat.

Groaning, his gaze flew up to Yami's once more. Yami had been silent, still in that crouch, watching him, the compassion

glittering in his eyes, though his mouth had softened from being twisted in anger to tightening with concern. With a sigh,

Yami rose, eyes narrowing.

"Still no popcorn, I see." Seto raised a coy eyebrow, as he slid himself more upright, and craned his neck to stare down at

the mess before him.

"It's a pity there's no alcohol use in this little sordid scene, is there? This looks like the morning after a frat party." Seto muttered

with a shrug.

Yami was silent, but immensely relieved to see the familiar sarcasm emerge once again. It was so much easier to fling the

insults at each other, to venture back into the common, shared territory of not being friends, quite, but no longer enemies.

Yami was a bit alarmed at the sudden shift in mood from Kaiba, but it was still a hopeful sign.

"Seto." Seto blanched at how softly spoken his name was, and swallowed hard before he turned to Yami, almost fearfully.

That tone of voice was so...afraid...

"Now that we've established the fact that I'm not leaving you in this state, let's move on to what we are going to do about it.

How can I make this easier for both of us?" Yami's inquiry was emphazised by an outstretched hand, poised for Seto to grip

so he could be hauled off the floor.

Seto ran a weary hand over his throbbing forehead, and shook his head. "You can't." He whispered.

"That's the crux of it, Yami. There's nothing to be done about any of this. No matter what the hell I do, or don't do...

I'm screwed, either way."

Yami nodded, in tormented understanding. "Be that as it may, Seto. You can allow me to help you up, and you can trust me enough

to finally accept that I'm not here to mock your pain, or add to your suffering."

Seto regarded Yami for a long moment, with his eyebrows twitching in inner deliberation. From the trembling in his limbs, to the general

weakness, Seto knew that he simply didn't have the strength to force his body upward. With a grunt, he gripped Yami's hand in his own, as

Yami gently encircled his middle and together, hauled him up off the floor. Seto felt the floor shifting beneath his dragging feet as Yami shifted

under his arm, and swiftly manuvered him into the waiting chair, where he slowly deposited Seto, ensuring that he wasn't jarred or hurt any more

than necessary.

Yami stepped away, as Seto gave him a smirk. "I wouldn't think that somebody as short as you are would have that kind of muscle power, Yami."

Yami looked smug, as he crossed his arms, and shook his head. "Height does not equal might, Seto."

"No...but it is extremely useful in allowing me to look down on people, even more than I would otherwise. Now, if you would be so kind, please leave the

bathroom so I can clean myself off."

Yami's eyebrow shot up with sceptism, but his voice was kind, as he ventured to ask, almost timidly. "At the risk of ressurecting an old subject between us, Kaiba,are you sure you won't need help?"

Seto cocked his head to the side, and gave Yami a scathing, haughty glare. "That is like asking somebody how they use the toilet, Yami. You know exactly what they do when they head to the bathroom, but do you really want the specifics?"

Seto gestured to the shower, scornfully. "Do you really think I wouldn't have the foresight to modify certain aspects of my home to accomodate this new development?"

Yami found himself waved out of the bathroom, as Kaiba shot him another sneer, before he slammed the door shut with a shove from his chair wheels.

Seto grit his teeth, and yanked the slimed shirt off, and tossed into the corner, heaving, and stared, irritably at the bathtub. It was a relatively simple task to fill it, but quite another to slide himself into it. It wasn't true that he couldn't stand, or even walk. It just took such a monsterous toll on his remaining strength to do either one for an extended period of time, any more. He had recovered a little. With a grunt, he raised his hips by setting his feet firmly, and then bracing his elbows against the chair's arm rests. For one panicking moment, he felt as if he would fall to the floor again, but it passed long enough for him to flop over the bathtub's rim, and glide into the water. He let his torpid legs float upward, as he worked to slide the rest of his clothes away, and tossed them into a sopping heap in the corner. It was sad to feel so triumphant over such a simple task- one that he did once, a thousand times, with no second thought, but it still gave him a bit of hope that maybe...things weren't as horrific as he thought they were. The water felt good against his aching muscles, and he allowed his legs and arms to float as they would. He even allowed himself to splash a bit. He tilted his head back, savoring the tepid heat against his neck, and sank down til all but his face and eyes were underwater, then came up, shaking the wet hair. When was the last time he had allowed himself to enjoy a moment? He wondered. When was the last time he had actually felt the glide of water over his skin, or paused to savor Mokuba's fierce love for him, or just...live?

That was a new concept for Seto, he mused, as he closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure. It always seemed that his life was a hopeless race against deadlines, against

the fierce beasts that raged constantly in his thoughts, taunting him of his weaknesses, and instilling fear and cynism into every inocent gesture of kindness that came his way. He had grown hardened, and fierce, and unyielding in the face of so much suffering at the hands of those who were supposed to care for him when he was younger. He knew that the fear and the pain he had carried as a boy, had transformed into loathing and power-seeking as he grew to a man. That the whimpering child's cries became the trigger for his own heart being so guarded and his feelings so cloaked by the indifferent sneer he presented to the world. It was his strongest defense. It was the only thing that didn't fail him as so many other things had in the past.

Mokuba alone had the barest glimpse of all the panicking rage and fear and pain that he choked down on a daily basis. Yami had caught a small dose of the war he fought with himself...Seto curled a lip in self-revulsion, but then stopped when he remembered that Yami--whatever his motivation might have been--didn't take the chance to gloat, or rejoice, or add to his misery. No, he stayed, and he _helped. _

Indeed, Yami returned sneer to sneer, volleyed back his defenses with a relish, and Kaiba was sure that he enjoyed the strange sparring dance they were engaged in, as much as he relunctantly admitted-as Kaiba enjoyed them. It was a strange thing to find that his most loathed rival had as of late became his most trusted sounding board.

It made Seto feel...safe, to know that Yami had seen him at his worst, and somehow found the tolerance enough to stay. That was the act of a friend, Seto mused.

Yami cocked an eyebrow to hear the sloshing water behind the door, as he perched uneasily in the chair, mulling over the events that had just transpired, and wondering, once again, how the hell he got caught up in all of this. Instinctively, he flinched at the thought of how perceptive Kaiba was in his barbed insults, and uncomfortable probing questions. It was not the fact that Kaiba was so blunt that bothered him. It was the fact that arguing with Seto was eerily familiar because it was almost like arguing with himself. With a groan, and a resigned smile, Yami relunctantly admitted he was much more like Kaiba than he ever thought possible. Maybe that was the reason why he didn't waste time offering his best wishes, or false platitudes. Were the situation reversed, he knew he would hate people's pity and their good wishes far more than the freedom to be bluntly honest, without the need to soften any blows, or force the raw pain to be cloaked by the false piety of politeness.

He imagined that Seto had so little tolerance for any of that because he didn't have the time left to deal with anything that wasn't substantial. And, surely, there was nothing less substantial than being forced into weakness, and false tears because other folks thought he should.

Yami smirked.


	17. Privacy concerns

Yami raised an eyebrow at the soft sound of the wheels rolling through the plush carpet, and stared in mild suprise to see Seto propel himself forward with aparent ease. Seto met his stare with a raised eyebrow of his own, as he rolled the wheel chair to where he wanted it. Yami grimaced to see the the all too familiar effort of attempting distancing retreat as Seto rolled himself to his familiar perch behind the massive, gleaming oak desk.

Seto said nothing to Yami, as he arranged his chair with distracting, forced ease, shifting, bracing his arms across the cold wood, and grunting as he lowered himself again. He saw Yami's flinch of concern, the sudden lurch forward, but was suprised to see him visibly restrain himself from acting on the charitable, if embarrassing impulse.

With a sigh of consideration, Seto gave Yami a wry smile. "Even though you know that I'll chew your back like a tiger for it, you can't help it, can you?"

Yami tilted his head to the side. His answer was blunt, if softly spoken, "And you never seem to hesitate to let a good deed go unpunished, Kaiba. I still do not understand your aversion and mistrust towards the world at large."

Seto narrowed his eyes, drummed his fingers against the wood, in a slow, stacato rythm for a long moment.  
"I have my reasons." His face, and eyes were placidly serene, and betrayed as much of his thoughts as a closed door would reveil of a hidden room, as Yami only shook his head.

"I am sure you do." Yami offered, because he could think of no better answer, and did not want to bother himself with sorting out the mixed message that Kaiba was so gifted at sending him.

"Were you just making pleasant conversation, or was that your probing way of asking for more information?"

Yami startled at the sudden question, the confusion evident in both the way he crossed his arms in aggitation, and the curl of one lip to his teeth. 

"Kaiba, I have seen you vomit, and sob. Do you think that I am all that concerned about embarrasing you with a mere question? "

Seto shrugged off his scathing glance with a negating, irritated twitch of his shoulders, as Yami only raised an eyebrow, in silent demand for an answer, as they resumed staring at each other.

"You show a lot of fear of an unasked question, Seto." Yami did not bother to hide his amusement.

Seto's eyes slid nearly shut, wary, and warning.  
"If your curiosity is killing you that much, then just ask a damn question, Yami. It can't be more awkward and unproductive than us just staring each other down, can it?"

Yami smirked, sadly. "And I didn't know that you would be so eager to goad me into divulging your darkest secrets."

Seto only gave him a wary shrug. "All I can do is refuse to answer, Yami. By now, I think I can safely assume that you're at least a bit curious."

Yami grunted in acknowledgment. "Be that as it may, Seto, I still stand by my original theme. I am not here to add to your suffering."

Seto gave him a small, tight smile, cautiously. "You would not have gotten as far as you have if you did, Yami."

"Have it your own way, Kaiba." Seto flinched at the harsh hiss of his last name, in sharp contrast to their earlier, brighter banter.

Yami's eyes dipped downward, as did his mouth,as he crossed arms in aggitation, before his eyes flickered with some emotion that Seto could not place.

"You mentioned that more than a few people were rejoicing over the news of your...declining health?"

Yami hesitated, as Seto suddenly lurched in wary warning, eyes growing hard, body growing tense, teeth already rising back from drawn lips...

"You mean my death sentence." It was a soft snarl, emphasized by Seto's glittering eyes narrowed to knife points.

Yami looked as if Kaiba had slapped aside the cheek, from the blunt, indifference that Seto spoke of his death.

Yami bit his lip, uneasily. "I..am sorry. It seems cruel to be so blunt about such a grave issue, and yet, you won't tolerate or allow anything less. What would you have me do, Seto?"

Seto sighed, and shook his head.  
"You don't have to be so delicate about referring to my demise, Yami. You're not making it any worse by calling it what it is. Truth be told, it's a bit of a relief that I don't have to sugarcoat reality with you. There's no need to get so flowery about it. I'm dying. Get over it."

Yami raised his chin, offended, and uncertain. "At the risk of being more...flowery, what sort of ignorant bastards would actually say that to you, Seto?"

Seto only offered a brittle, broken smirk in answer,that seemed far too close to shattering, as he blinked, and looked at Yami in tragically amused indifference.

"I would imagine only the cruel and ignorant ones. Who the hell cares?"

Yami bit his lip. "Who said that, Kaiba?" The quiet demand for an answer made Kaiba stiffen, as he lowered his head, the smirk melding with his slumping posture until he looked as if he could trickle through the floor in hurt. Yami saw Seto's mouth twist, and his eyes turn to ice, before he spoke, again, softly,  
angrily...

"I don't know why the hell I'm telling you this, or why the hell you're listening to it. But, since you seem to be so stricken with guilt about who could be insulting my good name, I'll tell you. Consider it a gift, I owe you that much...When I was first diagnosed...I did something very foolish. A casual mistake involving a gross error in judgment on my part and me being a jackass, as opposed to the heartless bastard I usually am. "

Yami's eyes bulged, as Kaiba smirked, wryly. "Oh, come on, Yami. Don't tell me for all your supposed 5000 years of existance that you've never done anything stupid?"

Yami snorted, and managed to look regal doing it, as he muttered,"Getting involved in your affairs might count."

Seto grunted in amusement. "As you said, Yami. Never let a good deed go unpunished. Now, to continue my self indulgent, revealing rant, I did something extremely stupid, something that I never meant to do, and will never do again."

Noting the sudden twitch of Yami's eyebrow, Seto sighed.

"I hate to disappoint you, Yami, but it was an ordinary, stupid mistake, and not a collasal, fantastic one.  
I didn't arrange to leave the hospital with any cover, and just strolled the hell out of there like any other average person. Hell, I didn't even take another car! It was only a matter of time before somebody, somewhere saw me leaving, and that was what set off the speculation that I was having health problems. Within hours of the diagnosis, apparently, it was already known that I was seen exiting the Domino City Hospital with Mokuba. Honor my egotistical ramblings for a moment when I point out the obvious fact that I am both very rich, and very well-known. There is hardly anything unusual for my name, or my face to be featured in any one of the crap rags they call news nowadays. I hate the gossip, but I refuse to live in a damn bubble because of public opinion."

Seto gave him a small, helpless shrug, as his voice trailed off, his eyes glimmering with rage, and overwhelming sadness.

"The next day, I found my face plastered all over hell and the newspapers, too, with speculation that I was suffering everything from the last stages of drug addiction, to AIDs, to insanity. Apparently, I have also been a busy boy, since apparently I am dying of several STDs as well." Seto curled his lips in disgust, as Yami's jaw dropped.

Seto only snorted when he saw that Yami was too flumoxed to answer for a moment. Apparently, whatever images were flitting through his mind at that moment were horrifying.

"Not only am I now a disease-ridden bastard of some sort, I am also an alcoholic, and I've fathered at least six children by different women, if you believe the crap they print about me. Granted"  
Seto chuckled, but it sounded more like choking, "I am a disease-ridden bastard. They at least got that part right."

By then, poor Yami's eyes seemed to be in danger of falling out of his skull, and his eyebrows had climbed so high, they disappeared.

"It is allowed to print such slander?" Yami's outrage was visible from the grimace and the clenched teeth, as Seto only chuckled softly, and indulged in a condensending smile.

"You know, for somebody who's supposedly existed for at least a few eons, you are remarkably ignorant about how the modern world works. I could order them to print a retraction, if I truly gave a damn, one way or the other. But, it was common knowledge that I had something wrong with me even before Mokuba told Yugi about it...and Mokuba only did so with my permission. Regardless of what I think of your cheerleader, I know that Yugi, at least, has the decency to keep his mouth shut about such a private issue. I knew you would, too. Probably the reason why we've not killed each other, yet."

Yami shook his head in wry amusement, as Seto continued, "I know, it seems like it should be little more than a passing annoyance. And it would have stayed that way, if that was all that resulted. It's petty, stupid, and unworthy of either my time, or attention. But, then, the story leaked out of my true diagnosis, that I was indeed terminally ill, and I didn't have long to live. It was confirmed by "an unnamed source" of the hospital, accepted as legitimate, and then, broadcast all over hell. So, now the world knows about this, Yami, even if you have somehow remained ignorant of the press, the Internet, the television...Geeze, you need a life."

Seto shook his head in amazement, before he wearily continued.

"It was such a sudden betrayal, and such a huge one. I had no idea that what was said in such a private setting would be fodder for so much gossip, and outright lies. I did have several irrate conversations with the administration of the hospital, threatened to shut them down, pitched a royal hissy fit, and made them nearly piss themselves.But, by then, the damage was done, and there was no more room for speculation about what was happening to me. They had the results right there, in public, for all the world to see, to gawk at my pain, and gloat over my suffering. That's one of the reasons why I was so lovable when you first came to see me. I thought you had just come out of curiosity, or just the satisfaction of seeing me down so you could just take advantage of it. You'll have to tolerate it, or forgive me for it, I didn't know any different."

Yami drew his arms around his torso, as he slid back into the chair, his brow furrowed with thought, and his eyes turning inward for a long moment.

"If I hadn't have forgiven you, you would certainly know. I just don't understand why you seem to view the world with such hostility. Either somebody has wounded you so deeply in the past that you're still bleeding, or you've arrived to this insane conclusion on your own, and you're too afraid to consider any other possibility."

Seto drew back, sharply, his eyes darkening with storms, and his mouth twisting into a grim line.

"If I'm still bleeding, why would I give anybody the chance to make the wound deeper, Yami? If something hurts me so much that you view me as an emotional cripple based on your own half-assed assumptions, even after knowing me better than the wide, wide world... Why the hell would I give them " Seto flung out an irrate hand in a wave arching over the wall, as he glared at the window, "a chance to inflict even more damage?"

"I love it, you know. How damn pretentious this whole thing has become. I'm dying, right? That should be rather simple, straightforward, and easy. Even a kid who has seen a bug smashed beneath their sneaker should understand what the hell it means. They all learn, if they live long enough, and they certainly learn it when they die themselves. So why is it so difficult for the rest of the world to understand that? Yami-"

Yami startled at the sudden blurt of his name, and he tilted his head in confusion, not certain if Seto was seeking a response, or wanted silence.

"Did you know one day after I left the hospital, my company was flooded with inquiries from the press wanting to know if I had any thoughts to share about my impending expiration?! There were no well-wishers, there wasn't any polite, evasive b.s., I haven't even recieved so much as a sympathy card, and I was still numb from the shock of the whole thing. In some ways, I still am. But then, it was so bitterly raw..."

Seto twisted his lips in pain. "And it still is...just not as much. But to have those vultures gather around me, and invade my privacy, and try to take away what little time I have left by asking me what the I think about dying?! I gave them my thoughts, alright. I gave them my thoughts so well that their ears are still bleeding, if they've succeeded in picking their jaws up from the floor and successfully reattaching them to the rest of their worthless mouths."

Seto briefly allowed his old smirk to reemerge at the memory.

"Would you be so kind as to divulge what manner of revenge you took on said blabbermouths to bring such a smug look to your face?" Yami's voice was wryly amused, as he shook his head in tolerance.

"I personally had a chat with every one of the editors of said newspapers. Let's just say the reporters will be lucky if they're allowed to work as delivery boys from now on...As for the Internet rants?" Seto's smile had grown from smug to evil.

"It's not a wise thing to with a CEO who happens to be a computer expert. Let's just say that I uploaded a virus so nasty into their little websites that each time a person logs on, they will see nothing but a big picture of me giving them the bird, before it crashes beyond any hope of rising again." 


	18. Unexpected Viciousness Part One

It was one thing to atone for his sins, it was another to forgive another of leaving so many scars in his wake.  
Seto whimpered in a feverish nightmare, bolted awake, and lay panting and spent in the twisted sheets, as the welcoming awareness came thundering back to him with abrupt clarity. His eyes darted around the familiar bedroom, and Seto was grateful to find himself centered once more.

He grimaced as he surveyed the shiver of fear that ran its icy trails down his quaking spine, and he rolled his eyes in self-revulsion. Even after the passage of so much time, the memory of his step-father was enough to drive him into cowering, and it didn't matter one whit to Seto if Gozaburo was dead and rotting, or in hell where he belonged. In the shadows of the bedroom, and the gloaming silence, Seto could still sense his presence, always haunting him, hounding him, and Seto wouldn't be too suprised if that monster had found a way to torture him from beyond the grave, if there was a way to be found. And Seto shivered with a bitter wince, at the strange irony. Just because somebody was dead, sure as hell didn't mean they were gone.

It was a bitter, bitter moment in his life when Seto stared at his hollow eyes-iced over with rage, narrowed into hardened saphire knife points that flayed the world on a regular basis, and saw, with sickening clarity, that despite the differences in color-Seto's eyes were blue, and Gozaburo's a shimmering black...they had the same calculating, vicious glitter, the same satisfaction of cruelty, the same expectation of being butchered and broken unless you struck first, and then left nothing for anybody else to wound you with.

Seto shuddered and promptly vomited, knowing that there was more than just his cancer at work for the sharp twisting in his gut.

He had been almost too careless in his conversation with Yami, about how he was forged, and Yami's complete...stupidity as to why Seto chose to close the world off, and rebuff all attempts of prying him open.  
But...Yami had accepted the fact that Seto had his reasons, and apparently deemed them valuable enough to not question them again.

Mayhaps Yugi had told him a bit of the nightmare he had lived through underneith Gozaboro's crushing expectations, and malicious cruelty. Maybe Yami had picked it up just from the fierce snarl that automatically curled Seto's lips in just thinking of him. Seto didn't know, and honestly didn't care at the moment. The past was the past, and it couldn't be changed, since it was over with...

But if it was all over with, why the hell was he having nightmares nearly ten years later? Was this yet another issue he would be forced to deal with, or was it just the stress of dying, and waiting, and facing all the other things he never thought he'd have to? Seto buried his face in his hands, not bothering to restrain the sudden urge to weep, since there was nobody to hear, and he couldn't stop it now,anyway. He didn't collapse into hysterics, more like small, restrained hiccups and tears that rolled down his cheeks, in silent pain. Even his crying was controlled. What sort of force had made even his tears unnatural? Seto cringed inwardly at the answer.

-

Seto did not believe that the future could be predicted by stars, or random acts of fate. The world may follow predictable patterns, but he had no faith in the order of the universe. His own demise in a few months was proof enough to squash that belief.

So, when he was feeling quite burdened with the b.s of the nightmares, and the memories, it was almost eerie to have Mokuba suddenly burst into the room, eagerly announcing that Yami and Yugi happened to be in the neighborhood, and just "checking in on you, to make sure you're alright."

Seto's eyebrow raised sceptically as he stared down Mokuba, to see if this was yet another calculated attempt to gently force Seto to purge some of his angst and venom onto Yami. No. Yami was far too blunt,intuitive, and actually-Seto blanched at the wording-too considerate to simply march up to the Kaiba mansion unnanounced. Yugi, on the other hand, was far too simple, too stupid, and too kind to find anythign wrong with visiting a dying man. Seto sighed, inwardly. He sincerely hoped that he wouldn't have to put up with Yugi's nonsense about sunshining friendship. He wouldn't be too suprised if Moto brought him a stuffed animal to cuddle with. And what would make the whole thing even more awkward was that Seto simply didn't have enough cruelty to crush Yugi's giving nature. It was beneath him to be so vicious now, especially since Yugi had been so gracious with Yami. Seto never asked, but he knew that Yugi would never expect Yami to reveal what was said in private. And Yugi was the only one he could think of that would ever allow that to be withheld peacefully.

So, he nodded curt permission for Mokuba to show them in, while he arranged himself in the chair to look a bit more like the CEO he was once, and less like a wilted, crushed victim. It was a struggle, but he managed to pull his face into unrevealing flesh, frozen in a polite expression of interest.

He heard the soft, hesitant knock on the door, and then the timid inquiry, "Kaiba? It's Yugi, and Yami. Can we come in?"

Seto sighed, and waited, silently for a long moment, before he heard the door being flung open, by Yami, no doubt. It was confirmed as Yami entered, giving Seto a nod in greeting, then stepping aside, and gently shoving Yugi forward, in a fatherly show of protection that amused Seto.

Yugi flinched at Seto's snort, and Yami shot him a glare. And, Seto muttered, "Sorry," to his suprise.

Yugi only gave him a radiating smile that almost nauseated Kaiba with its pure forgiveness. A smile like that belonged above the head of an angelic being to use as a halo.

Seto waved to the large, leather chairs in front of his desk, with a non-chalant flourish.

"While you're here, you might as well sit." Seto folded his arms, and resumed his considering glare as Yugi visibly gulped, and slid into the chair. Yami crossed his arms irrately, and huffed in pretentious annoyance, before he relunctantly sat as well.

Seto drummed his fingers against the desk in a show of impatience, and restrained the impulse to slap Yugi, who was openly gaping at Seto's haggard condition with wide, troubled eyes.

"Seto! You don't look good at all! I mean, Yami told me that you were ill, but not like...this..."

Yugi's words were impulsively spilled out and abruptly swallowed down with an audible gulp when Seto gave him a glare that could peel roadkill off asphalt. His mouth twisting as if he had tasted something disgusting,  
Seto sighed, offended, and pained, before he bit out the words,

"I'm not just ill, Yugi, I am dying. And, I look damn good compared to how I will look when I'm actually dead. The state of my looks being duely noted, and disregarded, are you going to tell me why you are here, or are you only interested in making more pointless observations?"

Yami lowered his head with a snort of amusement, as Yugi gave him a troubled, hurt glance from Kaiba to Yami and back again, before he blurted out, "I'm sorry,Seto...I just...I knew that you were dying, of course.  
I just didn't-"

Seto waved the apology down, with a shake of his head, interupting with suprising compassion, " I take it you mean that you know that I am dying, but you didn't actually believe it, until now. There's no need for apologies, Yugi. You are being very...tactful." Seto finished, awkwardly, with his cheeks reddening,and his scowl returning even deeper when he saw Yami shaking with barely concealed glee. Indeed, the spirit seemed to border on hysterics as Yami had actually stuffed both fists over his mouth to choke it down.

Seto opened his mouth to deliver a scathing rant, but was shocked to hear Yugi's irrate voice bellow out,  
"And what is so damn funny, Yami?! What is wrong with you?"

Yami's hysterical mirth melted into instant shock, and Yugi blushed under the stares of both Seto and Yami, before he straightened, and crossed his arms.

"Excuse my rudeness,please. But, you two throw those comments around all the time, so I'm allowed one without either one of you being so shocked." He finished with a shrug, as Seto glanced over at Yami.

"It seems that you have succeeded in corrupting your cheerleader after all, Yami. My sincere congradulations." Seto said quietly.

Yami glanced at Yugi, who had flushed uncomfortably, before sneering in Yugi's defense, "Leave him be, Seto. Yugi has done nothing to deserve any insult."

Seto shrugged, and sat back. "Perhaps, then, Yami, you would be so kind as to explain why you both barged into my home, and are once again invading my privacy?"

Yugi's eyes bulged, as he spluttered, "We were worried, Seto! We only came to see how you were doing! Why is that so weird to you?"

Seto's eyes caught fire, as he reared back in his chair, eyes and mouth narrowing into a harsh mask as he drew a sharp breath.'

Yami inwardly winced from the impending storm that was now threatening to spill over, and cringed when he saw the warning curl of Seto's fingers into coiling fists of anger.

"Why the hell do you consider it to be normal to come waltzing into a dying man's home and pestering him about his health?! Does that not sound just a wee bit stupid to you, runt?! I-"

"Shut up!" Yugi hissed like a wet cat, as he leapt up from the seat, and sprang forth to the desk,both of his hands splayed outward for support as he attempted to lean forward, his lack of height emphazised as he was only able to meet Seto's eye level when craning his chin upward.

"You're nothing but a cold-hearted monster, Seto, you know that?! I don't know why Yami feels the need to subject himself to your torture time and time again, when all you do is spew these insults and pick away at every hurt you can think of! When you're not busy sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself, you're snarfing down pills and scaring the hell out of Mokuba!! I never thought you'd be so heartless as to put him through that, until now! Normally, I'm not the person who'd be driven to screaming the truth in somebody's face, Kaiba, but you're nothing more than a selfish, crippled bastard who isn't even human! I'd wonder how the hell you live with yourself, but it's obvious that you don't care about anything but yourself, so you're probably proud of your manipulating crap!"

Yugi's rant was interupted by Yami's abrupt yank on his arm, as he rounded on him, furiously.

"Yugi! What has gotten into you?! How could you say such-" Yugi snarled at him, shoved him away.

'Don't give me that, Yami," He growled, "It's nothing less than what you've been thinking for the past few months now. It's just that I'm the only one apparently who has the nerve to call Kaiba on it."

Yami's mouth hung open in horror, as Yugi stared up at him, his eyes glinting in rage, his body taunt, and his finger still jabbed in accusation at Kaiba. Kaiba...Yami fearfully slid his eyes over to Seto, to see what aftermath would be springing forth in a firestorm at any moment. The shock of Yugi's cruelty, and Seto's complete silence seemed to freeze time itself as the three waited in horrible anticipation for the next dark turn.

Seto's head was bowed, and he seemed to have an immense interest in his hands that were neatly folded in his lap. He slowly raised his head to meet Yugi's glare with eyes that glittered with wounded anguish for a brief moment, before he squelched it masterfully.

"You will forgive me if I was not aware of your ...feelings on this situation, Yugi." His voice, and expression were completely sterile of any betraying glance, or flinch, or wince of acknowledgement, and his words were so cold that the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Yami." Seto slid his name out with remarkable restraint,as his storming eyes burned over him, with hurt betrayal. "I was unaware of the fact that you felt at liberty spilling all that I've told you to Yugi. I appreciate your hypocracy in complaining that I keep the world out, but then turn around and reinforce every reason I ever had to do so." 


	19. A Knife To The Gut

It would have hurt less if Yugi had taken out a dagger and just hacked away to his sick, sudden pleasure,  
Seto mused, as he bit the inside of his cheek, and folded hands in strange patience. He wasn't sure if it was the words themselves, or the fact that it came from the one person he had never thought capable of being so ...honest, for one thing. It felt as if he had taken a slug to the face. And Yami...Seto noticed that Yami looked absolutely sick, pale and panting, his eyes wide, and vancant in horrified disbelief. As for Yugi.  
runt though he may be, rage made him look surprisingly strong, as he stood, with his finger still jabbing at Kaiba, his eyes narrowed and hard, and his mouth twisted into something ugly...

And, Kaiba, to his own horror, fought the sudden urge to vomit. He could only imagine the reaction that would trigger. He swallowed hard, and thankfully, the urge lessened, but did not go away completely. Hell, why should it? Apparently, he wasn't worthy of that bit of mercy, either, if Yugi felt so at liberty to pitch such a fit--in his own home, no less?! And, Seto sat back, paralyzed by helpless rage, and numbing hurt, and, once again...powerless.

Yugi broke the silence with an irate bark, sounding almost comical in his high-pitched, normally kind voice, "Yami never told me anything, Kaiba! I got that from the way he always comes back from one of your little chats looking like he's been through a beating! I don't understand why he puts up with you! Aren't you rich enough to hire somebody to scream at?!"

Seto gave Yugi a cold, bitter smirk. "Are you offering yourself, Yugi? Because so far, I am impressed, by both your nerve at screaming at me, and your ability to throw a fit based on nothing more than your own misguided perceptions of a situation that, frankly, is none of your damned business." It was barely above a whisper, and Yami only paled even more, his violet eyes wide and darting back and forth between Yugi, and Seto, stricken.

"It became my business the moment you started hurting Yami, Seto! Maybe you feel completely free to dump your crap on everybody with enough humanity to tolerate it, or maybe he feels too obligated and guilty to walk away now. I don't know, because he's never told me that, Kaiba! Do you understand that? Yami never betrayed you, but you're probably such a cold, scared, spoiled brat that you're too blind and paranoid to see beyond your own petty little assumptions!"

Seto chuckled, brokenly. "It's funny to hear you speak of 'petty, and little,' Yugi."

Yugi only glared at him, bit his lip, and shoved his arms under each other, irrately, with a dismissing shake of his head.

"You really are a bastard, Kaiba. And the fact that you are dying does nothing to change that."

Seto only shook his head, wryly, so amused, hurt, shocked, and sick, "Well, there is a bright side, to all this, Yugi. You only have to put with me for a few more months. That should put a smile on your face! Hell, maybe you can be a real humanitarian, and wait until Mokuba's away to go spit on my grave!"

Yami could stand no more. Both Seto and Yugi jumped as he slammed both hands on the desk with a loud bang, and he screamed, "Enough!!"

Yami's head was bowed, and he was trembling, when he raised his churning eyes full of pain to glance at both of them. "Please, stop this! I-"

He was interupted by the sudden thunder of the door being flung open, and Mokuba's burning, pinched face rising from the darkness of the hallway, like a pale moon from his black hair, as he strode forward, rigidly, with his eyes blazing towards Yugi.

Seto allowed a brief surge of triumphant pride when he saw Yugi falter for the first time, and raised alarmed eyebrows at Mokuba, whose determined scowl only deepened. Mokuba gave Yami a troubled glance, as the spirit only lowered his head, ashamed for whatever reason. Lastly, the dark eyes landed on Seto, glittering love and concern, as he tilted his head, seeking an answer to his brother's distress. Seto only nodded, slightly, reached forward, and briefly touched Mokuba's wrist, reassuringly. Mokuba narrowed his eyes, but nodded in return, before pivoting sharply to Yugi.

"Yugi." Yugi visably flinched at the sound of his name, as Mokuba only tensed his lips. "May I speak to you in private?" It was strange how such a polite question could be such a forbidding command, but Yugi only raised his head in a sharp, determined nod, as he slid out of the chair, after one last bitter shake of his head to Seto. Seto watched as the two left the room, silently, then settled his stare on Yami.

Yami met his gaze, faltered with a humiliated glance to the floor, and then swallowed, his eyes involuntarily trailing, longingly towards the door.

"Yami." Seto felt weirdly guilty to see Yami startle so suddenly, and whip his head around to stare at him, wide-eyed. Indeed, Yami had yet to lose that stunned, anguished look, as he stared at Kaiba, dumbly, unable to speak.

"From the absolutely tormented look on your face, and the way you look like you've just been broadsided by a semi, I take it Yugi's bitch fest was not something you anticipated, right?"

Seto's voice was softly restrained, and wary, but almost compassionate, as Yami only nodded, miserably.  
"I...I apologize, Seto...Yugi's outburst...that was completely uncalled for."

Seto narrowed his eyes, huffed in annoyance. "If that's truly the case, then why did your cheerleader leave like he had won something precious, and why are you apologizing on his behalf? How do you know he's not justified in going off on occasion? Come on, Yami, nobody can be that nice all the time. It's unnatural, or fake!"

Yami's eyes bulged in confusion, as he straightened in the chair. His confusion only grew when he heard Seto's next words, "I'm not holding you responsible for his actions unless Yugi comes with a string and someplace where your hand can fit to move his mouth, Yami. So quit looking like you're going to be executed, and grow a spine. It's difficult enough to talk to somebody as short as you. It's even harder when your mouth is practically stuffed with your knee caps."

Yami's look of shock almost amused Seto, but it was the wary, strained way that Yami refused to accept such a suprise of forgivness that hurt, however unintentionally. With a sigh of embarrassment, Seto begrudgingly spoke, "Yami...it's alright. I already told you: I'm not holding you responsible for Yugi's mouth."

With a downright evilly gleeful look towards the door, Seto smirked. "I'm not so sure that Mokuba's going to be as charitable, though."

Yami's eyes narrowed into harsh awareness, as he stared up at Kaiba. "All due respect for your charitable notions, Seto, you are hardly known for your forgiving nature...or your ability to let things go. Do you honestly give me your word that you won't attempt to retaliate against Yugi?"

Seto only lowered his head with a sorrowed chuckle, as he shook it. "Let's be realistic about this, shall we? Were I to kick the ass of every human being who ever annoyed me, even before my expiration date, there would not be enough legs in the world to do so, Yami...and now..." Seto gave a scathing look to his wheelchair, as if he longed to throw the thing. "My legs don't work well enough to even be a remote possibility now. What the hell am I going to do, just roll after him and hope Yugi's kind enough to wait for me to catch up before I administer a beating?"

"It is not beyond possibility for you to hire somebody to do it for you, Seto." Yami admitted, quietly.

Seto tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and shook his head, slowly. "As inspired as your suggestion may be, Yami...I've never utilized hired thugs, or any other sort of violence to advance my agenda, or to fulfill my own personal vendetta. The only time I've ever been even provoked to that point is when somebody threatened Mokuba. There's more interesting ways of destroying people than just physical." He concluded darkly, remembering his own past experiences.

A/N: Yes, I will be writing about the impact that Gozaburo has had on Seto, as well as what transpires between Mokuba and Yugi, very soon. Seto's a bit out of character, I fear. Sorry! 


	20. The Wound That Never Heals

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the delay in writing this fic. It is my longest absence up to date, and it was due, in part, to me battling a major sinus infection, lack of inspiration, and some of my own family issues that sort of mirror this fic in a very sad, profound way. My own grandmother is currently struggling with the later stages of Alzheimer's, and I don't know of an illness more heartbreaking than that. If I ever do get a bunch of money from writing, I will donate a substantial portion of it to combat this horrible, horrible disease. My prayers are with all families who struggle with this. The only thing that makes any of this bearable is the fact that I know that she's going home to heaven. Other than that, it's a brutal, unrelenting disease that should be combatted with every means we have at our disposal. Personal ranting aside, I hope this chapter isn't too much of a departure from my usual angst.

I think it's actually quite good, but a tear-jerker...I hope that doesn't sound too egotistical. I hope to write a conversation between Seto and Yami about Gozaburo in a later chapter. We shall see.

Mokuba was more than slightly suprised to see how peeved, no, how down right _pissed, _Yugi still looked as he stomped down the hallway after Mokuba's leading, only coming to an extremely relunctant stop after Mokuba abruptly halted, and whirled around to face him. Yugi blanched to see how pale, sick, and angered the youngest Kaiba looked, as Mokuba crossed his arms with a dark scowl that rivaled Seto's. With a deep, cleansing sigh, Mokuba only shut his eyes briefly, before opening them, and regarded Yugi with eerie, restrained calm, and brightening eyes that were tormented, and wounded.

Yugi bit his lip, nervously, allowing some of the anger to yield, as he only stared back at Mokuba, wonderingly. Indeed, as the blind anger died away, Yugi was left with a growing sense of guilt, and regret that was completely alien to him, not because he did not know what they were, but because he so seldom strove to deliberately hurt somebody else. And from that shocked, stricken look that tore through Seto's eyes, and the sudden way his whole body flinched as if stabbed...

Yugi swallowed hard, mentally berating himself, then steeling his nerves for the inevitable, and definately well-deserved chewing that Mokuba was going to give him soon. Yugi honestly did not mean to spew so much venom on Seto...it was just the wounding confusion that seemed to hang off Yami each time he returned, and the tormented weariness from the whole situation. And, above all else, the stunning, sickening clarity and confirmation of Seto's decaying health. After seeing the thin, hollow eyes, peering up at him with nothing but emptiness before bleeding into weary acceptance of the pain from Yugi's words, the rather pathetic defense Seto slung back...

Seto was dying. The terrible knowledge broke over him in one dark, hideous wave, as he sucked in air in an attempt not to collapse. Gathering courage, Yugi slid his unwilling eyes to Mokuba's

hunched form, who stood over him, with arms crossed, and a condeming, harsh shake of his head.

"You're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you alone, Yugi?" Mokuba's voice was soft, but his eyes were storming over with turmoil. Yugi gulped, and nodded, timidly.

Mokuba only gave him a grim nod, as he abruptly sat down, and gestured for Yugi to do the same.

Yugi gave the chair, and Mokuba an uncertain frown, but lowered himself into sitting.

"First of all, Yugi, I want to know what in the hell pocessed you to barge in over here, if all you were planning on doing was screaming at my brother! I never knew that you would ever be so sadistic to call Seto a _bastard, _and then, to drag Yami into it, when he's the only besides me that Seto feels remotely safe talking to. I don't know if you feel left out, or if you're just an ass, Yugi, but you have no right to make this any harder on Seto. He's _dying, _Yugi. Even if you hate him, don't you think you can have enough decency to respect _that?_" Mokuba didn't even raise his voice, but he raised searing eyes full of tears to Yugi, before he swallowed hard, one hand gripping the steadying armrest beneath his elbow.

"He doesn't have long left, Yugi. And he certainly doesn't have time to be saddled with anybody else's b.s. right now. Especially not now."

Yugi's own eyes brimmed with contrite tears. "Mokuba, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make this harder on anybody, I just...I don't even know why I said what I did, and I have no excuse, other than I'm so afraid of-"

Mokuba's scowl deepened, as the sharp words flew out, "And what the hell do _you_ have to be afraid of, Yugi? Exactly what problem do you face right now that can even remotely compare to what Seto's going through?!"

Yugi flinched, and dropped his chin in defeat, before whispering softly, "Please let me finish, Mokuba. I do care about what is happening to your brother, and I know that I blew it. I'm sorry, and if you let me, I'll go apologize to Seto--but only if you think it won't make this worse. That's what I'm afraid of...making this worse, making this harder...and I've just done both. Mokuba, please believe me when I tell you that I am sorry with everything that I have. And I never meant to hurt your brother." Yugi finished with a helpless shrug, and saw Mokuba's eyes glitter in consideration.

"It's not me that you have to make this right with, Yugi. You didn't just mouth off to Seto. You _hurt _him. And that's not something that Seto may be able to forgive."

Yugi's inocent look of wide-eyed astonishment made Mokuba fight the urge to slap him, but Yugi did not pursue the admission.

Yugi nodded, slowly, bit his lip, tortured. "I have to try. If you'll let me?"

Mokuba tilted his head, and twisted his mouth into a grimace, before relunctantly nodding.

"I'll speak to Seto, Yugi. But, it's going to be his decision to hear you out, not mine."

"Frankly, Yami, I'd expect some sort of bitching rant from you, not Yugi" Seto muttered, as he raised his eyes to face Yami, who still sat with his head bowed, and spine bent in humilation.

"I never did expect something like that from him, Seto. Had I known he would spew like that, I would have left him home. Again, I apologize for th-"

'Enough with the contrite, beaten dog whimperings, Yami. There's nothing to be done about words that have already been spoken. You can't take them back, or erase them. The same goes for a lot of crap that I wish could be taken back, the past, scars, cancer...it's one hell of a list, if you think about it."

Seto's voice trailed off, and he stiffened at how suddenly revealing the conversation had drifted to.

Yami gaped in open curiosity, but did not press for any more than what Seto was willing to reveal.

Yami startled when he heard the knock on the door, as Mokuba entered. He gave Seto a warm gaze, seeking reassurance that he was alright, and Seto answered with a small smile and a nod.

Mokuba's eyes then fell on Yami, and he could only manage a tight smile and a curt nod.

"Seto?" Mokuba spoke his name with so much awkward uncertainty, as Seto turned, concerned.

"Mokuba, what is it?" A sigh, eyes darting to the door, nervous figiting, before the answer came.

"Yugi wanted to apologize to you. But, only if you were willing to hear him out, Seto. He said it's up to you."

Seto gave a dismissing huff of air, and turned eyes sharp with accusation to Yami.

"You didn't use your little mind-reading scam to put Yugi up to this, did you?"

Yami snorted, bit back the sudden gaffaw with a cough, before he recovered enough air to answer, "I thought you didn't believe in the mindlink, Seto. And even if you did, it alone would not give me any means of compelling Yugi to apologize to you. I assure you, that is his own doing."

Seto only shook his head, before turning back to Mokuba, who still lingered in the door way.

"Let him in." He muttered, grimly, the scowl returning to his face, as Yami looked at him, clearly troubled.

Mokuba nodded, and the door slid shut.

"Seto." Yami spoke his name, softly, in a last effort to plead for Yugi's mercy.

"Yugi is not like me. He may not be able to handle your barbs, and he's not been hardened by burdens. I know he overstepped boundaries in a major way, but please-" Yami grit his teeth.

"Don't unleash all your fire on him. He may deserve it, but if you've changed as much as you say, now is a fine time to show some of that mercy."

Seto only snorted, and gave him a calculating smirk.

"I would appreciate it, Yami, if you gave me and Yugi a bit of privacy for this little chat."

So cold, and so distancingly polite. Yami glared at Seto in chilled warning.

"If you hurt him-"

Seto only snarled in return, "I'm not going to do anything to hurt that shrimp, Yami. Do you really thing that somebody as sickeningly sweet as Yugi was is going to be able to live with himself if I don't hear him out? And do you really think he's going to say all he needs to say with you hovering over him?"

Yami's growl melted into astonishment, as he whispered, "You're doing this _for_ him."

Seto wrinkled his nose in destain, answered with a sneer, "How else am I going to prove that I'm not a bastard, Yami? But don't think for a moment I'm going to let this go unpunished. He needs to feel a lot more guilt before he considers himself worthy of mercy."

Yami allowed his lips to curl into a smile of cruel understanding. "But not _too _much, Seto."

"Of course not. Now kindly leave so I can grill the shrimp."

Yami grunted in amusement, and exited.

Yugi slunk in, with visible trebidation, his head bowed as if under an executioner's ax, and cowering, as he slowly slid back into the chair. Mokuba lingered in the doorway, and shut it at Seto's wave of dismissal. Yugi ventured a glance up at Kaiba's cold eyes as they stared long at the doorway, and then swept in their icy survey down to Yugi. Seto fixed his intense glare on him in an unrevealing glower.

The long silence grew awkard and explosive as Seto only wheeled his chair backwards slightly, and resumed his distaining scowl at Yugi's bowed head. Indeed, from the guilty misery that Yugi made no attempt to hide, Seto would not be too suprised to see him burst into tears. From his wilted, submissive position, Yugi ventured to slide his eyes up to meet Seto's. Seto finally emitted a sigh of impatience and broke the silence with an irritated wave of his hand, and a blunt, "Well, what the hell did you want to say, Moto?"

Yugi gulped hard, and Seto's expression of disgust only deepened when he heard the audible pop. Staring at his hands for a few seconds, Yugi finally found the courage to stare up at the scathing, searing eyes, eyes that were glittering pieces of ice, shimmering with loathing. Yugi only shrugged, and muttered, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. What I said...was wrong, and I shouldn't have been so...mean." The last word trailed off into silence, and Seto raised one eyebrow in distainful suprise at the last word.

"Mean?!" The word was spat with a glowering snort. "I am suprised, Yugi. From your previous bout of screaming at me, I would think that your choice of word expression would be a bit more...adult. You were ready to bite my head off less than an hour ago, Yugi. Where did your spine go?"

Yugi's only answer was a miserable shrug, and his head only bowing lower. "I don't have time for this bulls--t, Yugi. If that's all you have to say, do us both a favor and leave." With that dismissal, Seto rolled his chair back.

"Seto, wait!" Seto turned, peeved. "What is it now?"

"Is my apology accepted?" Yugi raised blazing eyes towards him, and Seto was taken aback at the runt's sudden fire. He looked like Yami, when he was pissed enough...

Seto only smirked with a shake of his head. "I didn't know I was under any obligation to accept anything that spews from your mouth, runt. I've been more than generous with my time by even allowing you an audience, not to mention even letting you into my home."

Yugi flushed an even deeper shade of red. "You're not even going to answer my question, are you?" Yugi only shook his head, with a scowl, as Kaiba's deepening smirk.

"Fine. Thank you, _so much_, Seto, for your time." With that sarcastic farewell, Yugi huffed in irritation, and slid off the chair, feeling both extremely embarrassed, and _pissed._

Seto watched as Yugi snarled over his shoulder, "You're still a bastard, Seto. And the really sad thing, you still have absolutely no excuse for it."

It was flung over his shoulder, and Yugi was almost out the door, when he heard the low gasp,and Seto's dark growl in answer.

"What the hell did you say, runt?" It was little more than a hiss, but spoken with so much rage, that Yugi hastily pivoted, to see Seto's pale, and pinched face frozen in anguished raged that was shielded over by the icy glaze of his usual scorn. Yugi gulped.

Even when at least 10 feet of distance, and being wheelchair bound, Kaiba looked like some feral cat ready to pounce and bring him down...

"Never mind what I said, Seto. I apologized, you only took it as another chance to piss me off, so I'm leaving." Yugi paused, uncertainly, inspite of the cruel words.

"You have absolutely no idea what the hell you're talking about, Yugi. Your assumptions are as short-sighted as you are." Seto nearly chuckled to see the smaller duelist redden in anger at the insult to his dimunitive height.

"Why are you like this, Kaiba?" Yugi's blunt question stopped Seto's snort cold, as he warily wheeled back.

"What do you mean, runt?" Seto's voice was low, his eyebrows high, as he stared at Yugi, curiously.

"You have everything a person could ever want, Kaiba, money, a big house, hired staff to take care of everything for you..I'd figure somebody that's had nothing but luxury all their life would amount to more than acting like a spoiled brat who throws hissy fits. You don't have any reason to act like that."

Seto only gave Yugi a bitter, cold smile, broken and almost...sad. "What makes you think that _reason_ has anything to do with how I act, Yugi?"

Seto's voice was soft, and his eyes were far away, lost in some torment that Yugi could not comprehend. If the runt had any idea of the hell he had lived through...Seto shuddered, and willed the stranglehold of the past to be choked down in submission for the moment. There would be a whole night ahead of him to relive the nightmares. But now...

"This conversation is finished, runt. Leave." And with that curt command, Seto only watched as Yugi stared at him, curiously, then left.

It was another tormented night, one that fierce pride forbade the drugging oblivion of sleeping pills, but irritated nerves and the emotional toll of the day fragmented over his churning thoughts as he lay, imprisoned by dark thoughts, and twisting futily in the tangled sheets. Even after the fact that Gozabora

Kaiba was in hell, or the grave--Seto didn't give a damn which one at the moment, it was a sad, sad moment to realize that the bastard was still capable of inflicting damage from the grave. Seto shivered when he heard the echoing cackle of an old memory. Shoving palms to his aching head, Seto squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of old, familiar pain.

_MEMORY..._

_The unexpected blow fell out of nowhere, sending fire up his spine, forcing the slumber out of his mind, beating the few blissful seconds of unawareness out of him, as he straightened with a startled cry of pain. The book was slammed down in front of him, and his step-father's face was livid and scowling, as he merely gestured towards the open page, and commanded him to re-read the whole thing until it was memorized. Seto whimpered in pain, whispered a plea, and recieved a blunt crack to the side of his skull in answer, before Gozaboro only gestured to the book again, with a single, quiet command:_

_"Read!"_

_Seto scrubbed away a tear with the back of his hand, chanced a terrified glance at his step-father, and bowed his head to comply. The words blurred, and his tears fell on the book. He cringed when he heard the sigh of disgust, and flinched when his chin was suddenly jerked up by the cold, rough hand._

_His face was forcibly tilted upward, as he met his step-father's searing eyes. "Tears are for weaklings, boy. I suggest you stop the blubbering before I do it for you." From the fingers gripping the cane in hideous promise, to the cold sneer that twisted Gozaburo's lips, Seto had little trouble understanding what was coming._

_"Yes, sir." Seto whispered, meekly, shivering._

_It was anguish, it was torture, it was little more than what his step-father viewed as "training." He was only 12 years old, and yet his eyes had lost their inocent optimsm of a child, and had been supplanted by the bitter, frigid ice that would become his trademark til the end of his days._

_And over it all, Gozaburo's face loomed down on him, eyes scathing in their loathing of a simple, ordinary fear being mutilated into yet another open wound to leech out weakness, and leave yet one more scar. One more fracture in Seto's already crumbling will. One more memory to bear. One more reason to accept that the world was harsh, and didn't give a damn. Any faith he had in things being just and right was beaten out of him, or broken away under the repeated blows, and unexplained whippings, and rigid, unrelenting pressure to live up to the impossible._

Mokuba was awoken by the alien sound of the tortured whimper emerging from Seto's room, and hastily dashed down the hall, to see Seto coiled up in a defensive position, as he twisted at the brutal images trickling through his nightmare.

_The tears were streaming, unchecked, the sobs allowed to emerge when he was finally certain he was out of earshot of his beloved younger brother, and the vicious hearing of his stepfather. Seto felt himself being broken, ground down by the unrelenting expectations, the cruel jibes to make himself go beyond his own limits, and being made a failure if there was anything less than the impossible. Seto felt like he was being eaten alive by the unrelenting cruelty, being driven to reach the impossible, Gozaburo dumping him at the foot of the high mountain, and sneering at his pathetic attempt to crawl up from the dust..._

_And, it hurt. Seto thought he had understood well what pain was. It was standing at the open graves of his parent's funerals, as he watched in disbelief when the caskets were lowered into the ground, and covered by the indifferent dirt. It was having his heart shattered at the dismantling of life itself, when he and his younger sibling were abruptly snatched from their loving home in the absense of their parents, and left to eek out an existance within the sterile walls of the orphanage. It was Mokuba's huge eyes, dark with storms, and grief and large with fear, as they silently pleaded with his big brother to explain why this had happened, and where Mommy and Daddy had gone. It was being a child with his childhood abruptly severed, and recieving nothing but ash and bitterness where love and security used to be. It was being forced to trade inocence for bitter strength wrought forth by the brutal undertstanding that he was the only who gave a damn about Mokuba. It was being forced to lock down every shred of humanity under the cruel manipulation of Gozaburo, and watching himself become the monster he always hated in his stepfather. It was feeling his heart break until it became numb, and the emptiness that came where the tears used to be._

_His brutal musings were disrupted by the sharp blow to his quivering cheek, as Gozaburo's dark, lithe form glided into the room, hands on hips, as his eyes glittered down on his adopted son's quaking form with malicious amusement. Seto gulped, scuttled away, tried to stammer out an apology, tried anything his panicked mind could conjure to spare himself of what was to come. _

_It was a pathetic attempt, one that Gozaburo scorned with amused satisfaction at seeing Seto cringe beneath his groping hand as he only ran fingers through Seto's hair with a casual consideration one might have for gliding over property. Seto's gut clenched, and he whimpered. He hated having Gozaburo touch him. He hated the violating sense of ownership that radiated from him, the sense that Seto was nothing worthy of love, that he was merely an object being put to use..._

_Seto felt so small, stripped, violated, and afraid, even though the man looming over him had merely caressed his shoulder, and sneered at the absolute, hopeless terror and anguish as Seto crumbled to trembling sobs._

_"Please, stop. I don't know why you're doing this to me, but please, please stop!"_

_Gozaburo only raised a coy eyebrow, met Seto's plea with a dismissing, condensending pat on the head. "Why, Seto...can't a man show some affection towards his oldest son? Even now, you're pathetic. You shouldn't be weeping like this, boy, not unless I've done something to really hurt you."_

_Seto could only whimper in answer, and tremble even more as the hand glided from shoulder to his back, where it lingered for a long moment. Gozaburo felt Seto's spine arch away in instinctive revulsion, as the boy's whole body surrendered to the bone-shuddering tremor that gripped the frail frame. Seto's blue eyes were glazed over with brilliant fear, tears glistening in their depths. For the life of him, Gozaburo could not explain how those eyes could almost move his heart with their beseeching plea. Eyes the color of the ocean's deep, eyes as dark with fear as the sky in the thralls of a storm. Eyes that would later take on the shade of ice, fade from brilliant indigo to distant, sharp cerilian in the aftermath of all this pain. _

_Seto felt Gozaburo's breath, hot and viciously hissed over his ear, "You or Mokuba, boy? Which will it be?"_

_Seto trembled from fear, to rage, as his face contorted into a snarl that looked even more tragic on so boyish a face. "You leave my little brother out of it, you monster! He's just a kid!!"_

_Gozaburo only snorted. "And so are you, boy. But, that makes little difference, does it? One day, you're going to be just like me."_

_Seto could only snarl back, "You're a monster!! Why would I ever want to be like you?"_

_Gozaburo's hand only stroked Seto's spine in a taunting, owning gesture, as the other hand forcibly swept Seto's chin from the matress, and craned his neck to peer into his eyes._

_"What makes you think that you can choose differently, Seto? One day, my boy, you'll look back on these years, and you'll hate me. You'll curse my name, maybe even spit on my grave. But, one day, you'll look in the mirror, and you'll see me glaring back through your own eyes. One day, you'll finally delude yourself into thinking that you've escaped me, that you're free. But, you'll always be haunted by me, Seto. You may hate me, for making you who you are. But, you'll never be able to forget me. You'll never have a day that's not tainted by what I've taught you, you'll never have a moment where you don't dread becoming the thing that you hate. You'll never escape the prison I've created for you, Seto. There's no key that can unlock the chains you carry with you."_

_Seto could only stare up at him, flinching as if he had been stabbed. It would have been a mercy compared to the resurrection of those words that tormented Seto long after the scars and the bruises and Gozaburo himself exited Seto's life._

_"So, what's it going to be, my boy? You, or Mokuba?" The cruel question lingered between them, as Seto grit his teeth, his child's voice deepening with the promise of the icy hiss his voice would entone when he was a man, "I'll never let you hurt Mokuba."_

_And Gozaburo only smiled. "So noble, willingly sacrificing your childhood, and inocence and everything you hope to be to protect that brat.Learn this lesson well, boy. There's nothing that will shackle you and make you weak like caring for somebody else. Look what you've already endured to shield that brat. I wonder what his reaction would be if I were to have a little chat about what his older brother does to keep him safe. That would be a most interesting conversation, hmm, Seto?"_

_"DON'T!!!Please, please, don't do that to him!!" The beseeching cry was only made more heart-wrenching as Seto slid to his knees, and sobbed._

_"Please...it would break Mokuba's heart. Do what you want with me, but, please, please..leave Mokuba alone!"_

_Gozaburo's lips slid from an annoyed smile to a cruel, hungry, satisfied smirk, as he only gave Seto a nod, and a sneer. "Your begging breaks my heart, boy. I'm not going to have so much mercy towards that little runt forever."_

_Seto sagged in relief, knowing that Mokuba would be safe for the moment. It was all he had to cling to, to endure the horrors, and the nightmares, to maintain the stoic mask he adopted as armor in contrast to the violated, broken heart that never healed, or the snarl that hid the sobs, and the secrets._

_And, aside from being mostly ignored, or tolerated, or the occasional slap, Mokuba was spared from Gozaburo's cruelty. Mokuba grew up in blessed ignorance of how much of a price that Seto had paid to shield him. Seto never spoke of what exactly had transpired between him and Gozaburo, preferring to let the characteristic steel of his own will carry him through the hardships and the dark, retreating from any sort of pain by the hard veneer_

_that grew over everything like the ice he was so brutally familiar with. His heart no longer broke, it merely froze._

Mokuba stood over Seto's curled, panting form, transfixed, with tears threatening to overflow from the shock, and the overwhelming guilt that washed over him in one dark, vicious flood. Seto was still locked in the nightmare, twisting in the sheets. Mokuba couldn't believe that Seto had handed himself over for _him_. Mokuba's heart swelled and broke with warring guilt and love and pride anew at his brother's strength. Tormented as whether it was kinder to leave Seto to deal with the nightmare himself, and keep the cherished belief that Mokuba was still ignorant of Gozaburo's evil, or wake him up and shatter everything that Seto had fought so hard to maintain...

Mokuba sighed through his tears. It was with a bitter understanding and a breaking heart that Mokuba silently lifted a prayer to heaven that Somebody up there would finally show him some mercy, and help him where he could not. From seeing the hideous aftermath of just the memory alone, Mokuba harbored no illusions that Seto would fragment with humilated violation that his brother dare even broach the subject. Hell, half of the reason why Seto was the way he was stemmed from protecting Mokuba. And to force Seto to relive that, to express gratitude for his sacrifice...that was wrong.

Mokuba lingered at the doorway, watched as Seto's body slumped into exhaustion, heaved with relief to see Seto's face finally go slack with peaceful dreams.

"Thank you, big brother." Mokuba whispered in the dark, as he silently padded out of the room. It was a good thing that his back was to Seto, or else he would have noticed the tear that slid down Seto's cheek, or the barely whispered answer only spoken when Mokuba left the room..

"You were worth it, little brother."


	21. Hemmorage

Mayhaps-

Mayhaps when the tears of time weep their last of sorrow's borne-  
And faded night's grey yields to a brighter morn-  
Mayhaps then, in celestial strands-  
I'll part with my dreams, and mayhaps...understand-  
Where bleeding and broken steps have led me so astray-  
Mayhaps, I'll be led by kindly hand-  
And have the grace to overstep the bounds of day-  
Give this broken vessel the grace to bear-  
All the things that must transpire-  
If I be broken and reforged by grace somewhere-  
Then, please, lead me through this fire.  
Hielo Warrenbeck

Seto kept his eyes fixed to the gleaming white ceiling that glowered in the fluorecesnt lights above his head, or at the off-white walls that were sparsely decorated with the typical mundane water colors found in such a bland examination room. His body coiled in instinctive revulsion against the vulnerability that was once again foistered onto him, and he bit back a shiver, not just from humiliation, but from the genuine cold that permiated from the flat gurney. The hospital gown was functionally useless in either providing warmth, or modesty, and Seto detested the garment, both as the symbol of his decaying health and newly loathed status as a hospital patient, and the absolute helplessness that seemed to cloy at him even more.  
Today was the perverse six month anniversary of his diagnosis from the cancer, and here he was, trembling at his landmark appointment to determine how much the cancer had spread, which direction it was going in, and his most loathed task of all...how to plan for the actual demise so that it would cause as little distress and obligation to Mokuba as possible.

At the moment, he was forcing himself to submit to the ultrasound that would soon glide across his bare stomache to monitor the tumor growth. He tried, and failed, miserably, to tell himself the obvious: that it wasn't invasive, it wasn't painful, and he should quit being such a damn drama king, and get it over with.  
It was a mild violation to his modesty-exposing his abdomen, and no more, but Seto still had to grit his teeth, and force his instincts into submission as he slid his arms into their characteristic, protective brace over his torso. From his towering height, and his weakened condition, it was an ordeal in itself just to lower his body onto the gurney, and allow himself to be wheeled into the x-ray room. Mokuba had doggedly insisted on accompanying him, but was only permitted to escort him to the waiting room, where Seto barked out the choice of driving him home right there, or letting him handle it himself. And from the resolute scowl, and the crossing of his arms, Mokuba figured it best to honor Seto's wishes if he had any hope of keeping his older brother at the hospital.

So, here Seto found himself, again. Submitting to another unwanted procedure to spare his brother the horrific knowledge that his cancer was growing worse. He smirked, so bitterly. He didn't need to have his insides cut open to know that he was losing the fight. Seto never acknowledged the internal war he fought with himself, the noose of so many insigicant decisions that was weaving itself steadily around his neck until he thought he'd break and choke from the strain...

Should he ration out his failing energy to maintain the pathetic illusion of normalacy at the expense of wasting time that he could use to do what he really wanted? Should he bear the pain and avoid the medication, even if it left him in tears, or should he allow himself drugged into dopey oblivion, and leave Mokuba suffering for it? Pain and co-herency, or a bit of false peace and lost time? And what of the last days? He knew it would not be pretty, and he harbored no cherished falsehoods about his body somehow not breaking down and failing him at the actual dying part. He wondered if he would still have his understanding, or if he would succumb to numbing fatigue, and leave with no words spoken. He wondered if his tormented flesh would be tethered to the world by machine, and medical intervention, leaving what remained perversely alive, even if the shell was only the fragment he left behind. And, he shivered at the terror of being in agonizing pain, of breaking down completely at his death bed and leaving Mokuba with those horrible memories of his brother weeping just before he died...That was what scared him most of all. The possibility that Mokuba would be even more scarred by Seto's lack of control over the situation. How realistic it was to expect to maintain his veneer at his death bed was a ludicrus pondering, Seto grunted, internally. Wasn't the whole reason why Mokuba was so angry with his botched suicide attempt was the fact that Seto was more willing to die to save his precious sense of control than have the guts to face what came at his side?

Seto put his aching head in trembling hands, screaming at himself to stop this torture of himself, to stop the dark musings of cruel possibility, before he completely succumbed to the fear and did something stupid again. Weren't these dark thoughts the same that propelled him to down 30 sedatives? Catering to the idols of despair, and surrender? Gritting his teeth, Seto slid his hands from his temples, to his lap, clenched them together in a fierce knot, tucked them under his chin.

"I don't know why this is happening to me. I don't understand Your purpose in all this, and I don't know why.  
But, I need help, and I need strength to get through this. To find the peace I need before I go insane, and drag my little brother down with me. You and I haven't always been on good terms, I know. But, if You are merciful...help me." It was probably the most honest prayer he had ever sent upward, and it had become a strange little habbit of his when he was overwhelmed, which had become more and more frequent in these last few months. It was certainly more productive than punching a wall, and he preferred the private entreaties to the Almighty, as he called God, rather than weeping hysterics. Seto pondered his out of character interest in religion with a shrug. If he was going to be meeting his Maker, it certainly made some sense to have a chat with Him on occasion. Even if it was just wishful thinking, or delusion, it made him feel a bit calmer. And that was what he needed at the moment. Never mind tomorrow's torture. He had enough to fear right now.

His hands slid downward, as he gave a scathing glance to the heaven that was beyond the gleaming ceiling. However bizzare, it had worked.

He flinched when he felt the technician's hand on his shoulder, as she offered him a kind smile.  
"Mr. Kaiba, I'm ready when you are. If you would kindly uncover your stomache."

Seto sighed, and nodded, as he lowered himself, his head tilted on the pillow, as his hands relunctantly ceased the hem of his gown, knotting uncertainly.

"A moment, please." He whispered, as he only breathed in, closed his eyes.

"Let's get this over with." He groused, irritably, as he yanked the garment up, and stared up at her, warily, for any sign that she was gaping or groping, or studying his pale, scarred torso with too much interest. Thankfully, she showed nothing but professional detatchment, as she carefully smeared the conductor gel over his sides. It was uncomfortably cool, and alien, but bearable. Staring at the screen, she lowered the sensor, and glided it over his torso, studying the grainy images with a sympathetic click of her tongue.

It went on for a few more moments, before she abruptly snatched the device away, announced she was finished, and presented Seto with a towelette to remove the gunk from his stomache, if he wanted.

With a shaking breath, Seto gratefully accepted it with a curt, but polite thank you, as he hastily shoved the gown down, and sat up, shakily.

Seto was perched uncomfortably in the leather chair of the doctor's office, the patent, shining leather feeling stiff and uninviting as he forced himself into the proper posture that was harder and harder to keep with his growing weakness. His height had once been considered a blessing, but being hunched over in pain, or even lowering himself made him feel like a bent over giraffe, gaunt, and sick, and ugly...

Mokuba's firm hand latched itself onto his forearm. Troubled, Seto glanced over to his little brother to see what he wanted, with a raised eyebrow. Mokuba's dark eyes glistened bright for a brief moment, before he only tightened the grip, gently. "We're in this together, Seto. Try to remember that, alright?"

Seto sighed, irritably, jerked his arm away, pointedly ignoring the blanched hurt that twisted across Mokuba's face. "Exactly how could I forget that, Mokuba?"

He heard Mokuba's huff of air, the unwelcome feel of fingers once again latching onto his arm, before he was forcibly yanked around to face Mokuba's wounded, storm-black eyes.

"And what the hell does that mean, Seto?!" The question was heaved out between clenched teeth, as Mokuba resumed his punishing grip on Seto's thinning arm. Seto only scowled, and spat out a curt, "nothing," as he tried to free his arm from Mokuba's clutches.

"Like hell it's nothing, Seto! I was only trying to tell you that I'm here for you! What's wrong with that?" Mokuba's voice trailed off in petulant hurt, as Seto dismissed the entreaty with a cold sneer.

"Unless you've got pom-poms and a skirt, Mokuba, I suggest you save the cheerleading, alright? I don't need that right now."

Mokuba's hand slid bonelessly from his arm, his mouth hanging open in pain from the harsh words.  
"I'm sorry, Seto..I was only trying to make-"

He was interupted by the sudden jerk of Kaiba's head, as he span indignantly to meet him, and wave down the words with a sweeping arch of one arm that he had flung out in irritation rapidly boiling over to anger.

"Trying to make what, Mokuba? Trying to make this easier?! Trying to distract me from all of this, so I don't mention it?! Trying to force me to choke down the lies that it's going to get better, that if I think happy thoughts all of this s--- will suddenly fly away? You're too old for fairytales, Mokuba, and I don't have time to indulge you in that."

Seto jerked his arm away with a disgusted glance, as Mokuba flinched as he had been hit. Mutely, meekly, he sank back into his chair, as Seto forced himself to keep his cold glare riveted on the door, waiting in the silence for the doctor to deliver the unexpected bad news.

"Why are you doing this, Seto?" The soft, hurt question floated up between them, as Seto shifted, as to present Mokuba with his very indifferent spine. Truth be told, the question felt like Mokuba was holding a searing brand to his heart, and Seto was doing his damnest not to disolve into furious sobs or shrieks.  
He did not know which it would be.

"Why am I doing what, Mokuba? Trying to understand your suddenly annoying need to cheer me for your own gratification, or why I allowed you to come to this...appointment in the first place?"

"I want to know why you keep pushing me away, Seto. You promised that you'd let me in, but all you do is keep me back. I want to help you!"

Seto raised hard, broken eyes to Mokuba. "There is nothing to be done, damn it! Why the hell should I let you in when all you do is bitch at me, Mokuba?! Why should I-"

Before he could continue the provoking rant, Mokuba actually struck his brother, the one and only time that he ever raised a hand to his beloved older brother. It was a relatively mild blow, one that would leave a bruise, and an ache for a few days. Mokuba stared down at him, in tense, stunned disbelief.

It was the bleach of alabaster pain that flared forth on his brother's suddenly drawn face, combined with the harsh sound between a groan and a whimper. It was the icy eyes of saphire bleeding in suprised anguish, not only from the physical pain, but from who inflicted it, as Seto peered up at his brother in disbelieving, tremoring shock, from his crouched, folded position. With a grimace, Seto forced his spine into straightening, choked back another yelp, and with admirable restraint, reset himself on the chair with the elegance of a king gracing his throne. From the trembling in his shoulders, and the hitching breath, Mokuba could see with vicious certainty that Seto was hurting.

"You want to know why I'm like this, Mokuba? Do you really want to know?" It was lilting taunt, a teasing, wounding jest, as Seto allowed his lips to curl into that eerily knowing smirk. It was like watching glass shatter as Seto snickered, then dissolved into an almost hysterical chuckle.

"Tell me something, little brother. How many times did our beloved stepfather beat you senseless?"

Seto's irritated fingers drummed out time on the chair's arm rest, as Mokuba's eyes shot open wide, and he looked as if he had swallowed his tongue. He was far too stunned to answer.

"You don't have to patronize me with an answer, Mokuba. I already know the truth, and I think, somewhere in your incoherent thoughts, you know it, too. Do you have any idea what it's like to live with lies, Mokuba?  
To wake up every morning wondering if you have to conceal a bruise, or put on a false smile to avoid a harsher punishment, and live in fear, every day, that the fate you suffer will eventually fall on the one person you love?"

Mokuba knew that their monster of a stepfather had singled out Seto,and treated him harshly, but he had no idea how much damage had been done, or how much Seto had choked down over the years. And now, faced with the horrific possibility that all the old scars were becoming fresh wounds, Mokuba could only gape in torpor.

"Every time Gozaburo even showed one decent shred of humanity to me, it was laced with manipulation,and cruelty. I learned very quickly to hate what I could not predict, fear what I could not control, and that weakness was a flaw to be beaten into submission, either by myself, or our loving stepfather. And, Mokuba, do you know how he kept me in line? Do you know what the one leverage was that he used time and time again to make me submit to all his sh--?"

Seto's eyes slid shut, as he trembled, and finally crumbled. "It was you, Mokuba. That bastard threatened to do to you what he had done to me, and I couldn't stand the thought of you suffering because I was too weak to defend you! "

Seto gave a bitter snarl, his voice harsh with the threat of sobs. "And, now, you dare question me why I am the way I am?! You will never know the torture of knowing that your last shred of humanity is keeping you prisoner. Don't you see how twisted it is to know that the one person you hate more than anybody else is manipulating the one thing that keeps you human into a monster? Everybody bitches at me because I'm such a cold, sadistic bastard. But, Mokuba, what the hell was I supposed to do?!" Seto gave a futile, helpless shrug.

"I learned, very quickly, that my weaknesses were always going to be exploited, and manipulated, and that led to being broken, and controlled. Those were my choices, Mokuba. Being broken, and controlled, or growing colder and colder until there was no way that Gozaburo could ever cut me deep enough to bleed again. And ever since discovering that, I just went with what worked, and turned into the cold, egotistical bastard that I never wanted to be. I know that I've been pushing you away, hiding. And, I'm sorry, Mokuba, for doing that to you. I know I'm an ass who jumps to the wrong conclusions about people, I know that I look for threats when they don't exist, and I have no concept of trust, or love being normal. That was all taken away from me years ago, and I know beyond any reasonable certainty, that they're not coming back.That was the price I paid, Mokuba, to make sure you could have them. It was worth it, you were worth it, and I have no regrets about that. What's in the damn past should stay there. But, Mokuba.."

Seto's eyes narrowed into bitter, suffering knife points, as his mouth twisted in intention, as one hand suddenly latched itself onto Mokuba's, as he snatched his brother in a crushing grip, and dragged him close to his clenched teeth.

"If you do anything with your life, Mokuba, I want it to be that you never, never become what I am. I don't want you to ever become a slave to your own bitterness, or be forced to hide who you are from the world. I know that people make their snide remarks about my seeming indifference to the world, Mokuba. But, it's a mask and a front, built on lies. And if you go down that path long enough, you'll find that masks fall off at the worst time, and you have nothing left to shield you from all the things you fear." 


	22. The Loudest Silence

It would have been easier to bear if Seto had cut out his heart, and laughed while doing so. Any pain would have been preferable to feeling his heart shatter with guilt, with love, with sensation that ran so much deeper than any emotion he could name. Any torture would be preferable to seeing Seto bury his face in shaking hands, and wilt under the burden of too much life, and suffering crammed so unjustly into so few of those mortal years. Mokuba said nothing as Seto scrubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and let his hands drop in defeat to his lap.

Mokuba had never seen Seto look so old, and so...tired, so frail...so human.

"I'm sorry, Mokuba." It was a harsh, soft whisper, so full of regret and uncertain pleading, emphazied by the helpless twitch of his shoulders. "I...know you're offering me your support. I just-"

Mokuba stopped the embarrassing apology with a negating shake of his head.

"You just have a hard time admitting your limitations to me, Seto, even though I know you have them. I get that. But, I don't expect you to be perfect, and I never would want you to ever, ever have to sacrifice yourself to pretend that you're invincible to human emotion, or being afraid, or hurt. I don't think any less of you, big brother, for being human. That's forgivable, regardless of what lies Gozaburo fed you."

"You don't understand!" Seto shook his head, and bowed it even lower, as his arms curled up in an uncharacteristic effort of self-protection. Indeed, it looked as if he were fighting the urge to fold his body into itself until there was nothing left to be subjected to any more misery.

"Seto!" Mokuba lurched forward, gripped Seto's trembling hands between his two steadying ones, forced the fingers to unclench, gently as he leaned forward, and forced Seto to peer into his eyes, that were now dark and pleading...

"Seto." His name was spoken with the reverence of a prayer, as Mokuba waited with infinite patience for his brother to calm enough to listen. Saphire eyes, so wounded with radiating memories that Mokuba was almost never allowed to see. Mokuba flinched to see the tired misery and the tears threatening to drown what little self-control he had left, as Seto only stared up at him, too defeated and anguished to argue any more.

"Damn it, Seto." Mokuba whispered, with a devistated shake of his head.

"Big brother, I know that Gozaburo warped your mind and broke your heart, and he was happy to see you suffer. But, don't you get it, after all this time? You are nothing like our step-father, Seto.Think about it. You sacrificed yourself, time and time again to keep me safe, and you've always been there for me. You turned KaibaCorps from a company making weapons that hurt people into a gaming company that entertains kids. You give money to all sorts of charities, and, you've never set out to deliberate make people suffer because you enjoy it. Would Gozaburo do anything like that? Hell, no. And we both know that he never would. So, please, stop...tormenting yourself, and let it go. Or else, you're just suffering the way Gozaburo would want you to."

Seto allowed his hand to wrap itself around Mokuba's in a quiet squeeze of agreement and gratitude.

"I'll try...little brother. That's the best I can do right now, alright?"

Night had fallen on the quiet steps of the Game shop, as Yami and Yugi bid their driver a pleasant night, and made their way up the steps. No words had passed between them, and Yami was more than concerned to feel that Yugi had closed their mind link. Yami watched Yugi's bowed back as he drifted into the shadows of the shop with a leery shake of his head. He did not know what sort of words passed between him and Seto, but he was certain that the forgiveness Yugi sought was only spat back at him with a sneer from Seto.

Of course, Yugi should not have chosen that moment to pour forth the venom, or expect Seto to simply hear him out with mercy, but to see how absolutely incensed Yugi was from the encounter was unnerving. Yugi had clamped his jaws shut, and there was an alien hardness to his glittering eyes that Yami had never seen before. It made him feel sad, and old. With a weary sigh, Yami wondered how to go about mending this particular wound, but after seeing Yugi storm away from the mansion, and actually stomp down those massive steps, as he jerked away from Yami's comfort, hurt.

When they had entered the limo, Yugi had only crossed his arms, and glared out the window, as Yami grew more and more uncomfortable in the long, awkward silence. Finally, Yami ventured to ask, "Yugi? What is it?"

Yugi only clenched his jaws tighter, as he shook his head. "Yami, I know that you mean well, and I appreciate it. But...I really, really don't want to talk about it now, alright? Yes, I know I was a jerk to Kaiba, and, no, I don't know or care right now what he thinks about it. I respect the fact that you two are close, Yami, and I hope that our disagreement won't affect your friendship. I'm sorry that I shot my mouth off, and I'm sorry for whatever else I should be apologizing for. But, right now, I'm too pissed to even talk rationally to you, and I really don't want to go off again."

Yami only sighed wearily. "I understand, Yugi. Seto can be an ass, and he is certainly not the most...gracious of people to apologize to. You tried to make it right, Yugi. Nobody can demand anything more of you, and nobody can force Seto to accept your apology. Believe me..." Yami allowed a wry smile to surface. "I know how difficult, egotistical, and downright cruel he can be. Dying, oddly enough, has done little to improve his treatment of others, except that I know now that he is making a real effort, however small, and unnoticed to the rest of the world, to redeem himself. The fact that he agreed to hear you out before sneering at you and dismssing you outright says something, doesn't it?"

Yugi groused, irritably, futily, with a shrug, " Yeah, it says he's still nothing but a rich, spoiled brat with a bloated ego. I don't mean to be rude to you, Yami. Please believe me on that. I just...I hate the way that the entire world feels like it has to bow down and kiss Seto Kaiba's feet, and cater to every stupid mood swing. I'm _not_ happy that he's dying, and I'm not happy that he's suffering. I feel sorry for him, and I know that I sound horrible for telling you that his dying had not changed my oppinion of him at at all. But, keep in mind, I've done nothing but treat him with respect except for my one stupid blow-up. He's done nothing but snub me every chance he gets. Maybe he has had some sort of change of heart I'm not aware of, Yami, that I can't see.

I'm not going to put you in the middle of this, if it even comes up. Maybe he really believes that the world owes him, or he's just lived such a pampered life, he has no ability to relate to anybody besides KaibaCorp people, I don't know. Just promise me that you'll keep yourself a bit back for you, when this all ends, Yami. You're going to have to deal with the aftermath. Seto won't."

Yami nearly squirmed, and choked at the brutal words, as his eyes bulged, and he rounded on Yugi. Yugi only gave him a tired, sad, look, and then gave a soft sigh of understanding.

"I know, it's blunt and mean for me to be that...abrupt and casual when I talk about Seto's dying. That's not my intention, Yami. But, since you're so shocked on _his_ behalf, maybe you'd like to consider it from _his_ viewpoint, since you're so enthusiastic about it. Would Seto ever want you to deny the reality of his situation, or get so involved that your heart breaks when this is over with? And, it _will _ be over with, Yami. You're not doing yourself or Seto any favors by trying to pretend that little detail away. I just hope that when this is all over with, you'll be able to make peace with what you can't change.

Regardless of what I think of Seto, I know it's going to be hard on you...you're losing a friend, aren't you?"


	23. Prognosis

Author's Note:

This chapter was inspired by some rather weird thoughts that I had running in my head, and hoped to get them out. For those of you who need some tear-jerking songs, I would recommend going onto YouTube, and looking up The Hereafter, by Jude Johnson, or May Angels Lead You In, by Jimmy Eat World. One very important thing to note: While I'm grateful for how well recieved this fic is, and how realistic the angst level may be, I don't know how realistic Seto's symtoms are as his death gets closer. I know that most people get their ideas from Hollywood movies, or from literature.

How realistic those accounts are depends on the actual death of the person at the time. I know that there is a lot of bueatifully written scenes of the "death bed confessions" where somebody says some pretty last words, and then just sort of drifts off to sleep. When I worked as a CNA, I did take care of a few folks who were leaving this world, and that was pretty rare. That being said, none of us really know when our time is up, and at the risk of sounding very cheesy, if you have something you need to do, or something that needs to be said, then you might want to do it while you have the chance. And above all else, make your peace with God, since you'll be in eternity much longer than you'll be here. Anyway, folks, on with the fic...

His eyes were enraptured by the fiery trail of bleeding violet gold that arched its way in such a wide stream across the indigo sky, as the quiet song from chirping crickets, and evening birds lit the sacred dark. It was a serene, still evening, where the world seemed to rest for once, and he had found himself restless and irritable from his frequent sojourns into his office. Suddenly, the computer monitor seemed a shackle, the phone, another chain, and all those obligations...

Seto took one sneering glance down at his rigid itenterary, then a longing glance out of the high, arched window of his private office. He had been told that his energy would naturally decrease as his cancer increased, and it was so damn frustrating to fight so hard and accomplish so little.

His energy, he found, had to be deliberately rationed out to what he deemed important. Ironically enough, the more his time trickled away, the further down the list KaibaCorp slid. Seto simply didn't have his old, relentless fire to propell the monolith to its soaring heights, any more. And as much as he sacrificed over the years, it still made his heart swell to see the glittering towers that were built from his own sweat and effort. But, the beckoning green beep of his computer monitor, and the nagging, relentless obligations that wove the noose around his neck were losing their charm when he raised his eyes outward, to see the sunset bathing the Heavens in colors, and richness that left him breathless with awe. Seto was grateful that he was slowly resolving the pain, and finding the peace he so desperately needed now. It was a gift from God, and that was the only way he knew to describe it.

It had been nearly a week after his doctor's appointment, and after he endured a brutal round of probing of his body, and submitted to the x-rays, and multiple blood tests. The day had left him brutally exhausted and irritated. He had managed to avoid picking petty fights with Mokuba only with a supreme effort,and he had avoided a collapse into hysterical, dramatic sobs at the doctor's office only because it was bitterly confirming what he had known and accepted, and battled to accept and know for the last few months now...that his cancer was getting worse, that it was indeed killing him, and he was still just as much dying as he was when he was first diagnosed.

At one point, Seto thought that the dramatic turn of events would break him completely, that he would be paralyzed with fear, and downing pills, or something frenzied, and stupid, and desperate, borne out of the same instinct that an animal gnawing off a paw to escape a string...

It was confirmed, indeed. From the kind, sad hesitation from the doctor, as she raised x-ray after x-ray, pointing out the grainy blobs that were lodged in various spots on his insides. She brought out an old x-ray, showing the black, clutching bones of his ribs, as they cradled his insides, and the eerie, cloudlike grey of the illness that swirled beneath them. In the next series, the clouds had burst forth, and were consuming everything, unrelentless, and completely unstoppable.

It was one of the rare moments that Seto found himself grateful to Gozaburo and his sadism concerning human emotion. Strange how the scars of the past gave him the strength to maintain normalacy and radiate serene acceptance for the benefit of Mokuba.

Mokuba. He had grown tall over the years, almost tall enough to look Seto in the eye, and his face had lost some of that cuteness, to be replaced by the fine, high cheekbones he shared with Seto, though his older brother was brunette, and all sinewy, icy-eyed restraint, pale and sneering, trembling, and harsh at the same time.

Mokuba was blessed enough to be different, and for that, Seto swelled with pride and love. Mokuba had those dark, sparkling eyes that complimented his long black hair, and a sincere friendliness that radiated in bright contrast to his brother's brutal reserve, further testimony, for Seto, at least, that his brother was securely rescued from the darkness of the past, and would never be forced to be anything other than what he chose.

It was that one bright jewel in an otherwise tarnished existance that gave Seto the security to believe that perhaps his years had not been in vain. It was the one deed that he was proud of, the one comfort he derived from the pain. His forgiveness and redemption, a gift from God, but enfleshed in the form of his younger brother.

Mokuba had clutched his arm, to the point of pain as the doctor rattled off the grim prognosis, and the answers to Kaiba's questions about what exactly he would be facing, "as my demise progresses." It was an utterly tactless way of referring to his expiration, of course, and he instantly regretted it after seeing the harsh wince from Mokuba.

The doctor visibly blanched, as well, and there was nothing but awkward silence, before she sat back with a gentle sigh, considering the young man before her, and tactfully began to outline the progress his cancer may or may not take. It would be wise for him to get in contact with a hospice nurse to oversee his pain control. He'd grow progressively tired, and drained. He might want to look into having oxygen delivered. His appetite would fail, and he would sleep more. She couldn't guarantee how lucid he might be in the end. He would be wise to sort out what medical interventions were acceptable or not while he could. Mokuba visibly paled more and more, trembling as he kept glancing at Seto with tears.

Seto ran a soothing hand through his younger brother's dark hair, murmured, "It's alright, Mokuba.It's going to be alright."

To which the younger Kaiba only snarled out, "HOW?!" before he dove into Seto's arms, gathered up his brother, as if he were trying to shield him from the inevitable.

Seto only gave the doctor an apologetic glance, before he embraced Mokuba, brought the bowed head to his mouth, and whispered, "Because, I've made peace with it, and we have time together to deal with what needs to be dealt with, and stop wasting so much time on fear. Weren't you the one that gave me that pretty speech, little brother? Mokuba...we have time, _now._ Let's focus on that, and to hell with the rest, alright? All the stuff she said is only possibilities, not prophesies."

He felt Mokuba shiver, but nod in relunctant agreement. Seto gave him one last embrace, and gently shoved Mokuba away, as he turned his blazing eyes back to the x-rays, his serenity falling like a mask over his indifferent glance, one arm still resting over Mokuba's quaking back.

"I thank you for your time, doctor, and your patience. I am grateful for both your compassion during this...painful time, and your honesty. If you don't mind, we will be leaving."

She rose, the objection just formulating on her lips, as hastily spewed, "But, Mr.Kaiba, you have too many decision to make to just-"

Seto only turned to her, his eyes radiating ice, while his voice was cool, polite, and restrained, "I am very _much_ aware of the decisions I have to make, Doctor, and the amount of limited time I have has not escaped my notice. I will definitely make my wishes known once I have time to mull them over.

But, the biggest decision about my demise has already been made, so the rest is really minor details, in the scheme of it all. Suffice it to say that I wish to die at home, with as little interferance as possible, and I designate my brother as my representative in the event I can't speak for myself. I will fax you the necessary documentation. Again, I thank you for your time."

Mokuba only gaped at his brother, as he rose from his chair. "Seto, you named me your guardian? How will I know what-"

Seto only smiled at him, gently. "I trust you, Mokuba, and your judgement. That's enough. And, there's no point in second-guessing yourself about the choices you may never have to make, little brother. _IF_ that time comes, and _if_ it is necessary, remember that you didn't exactly have the answers right now, but you've always helped me anyway. Have faith in that, Mokuba, if nothing else. Now, let's go home, alright? And on the way, you pick dinner."


	24. Issues

In Fire and Ice-

They say nightmare may yet buck the hands-

Of those who dabble in the shadow lands-

But for those whose choice it is to flee-

There is a hope they might yet be free-

But for those who wish to tarry there-

Should take heed, and then take care-

For the monsters that rove in the dark-

May become the fodder of a human heart-

That which we sang, up on denial's grace-

A dirge would not be out of place-

A song of pleas for the mercy of heaven-

May yet give hope for what was so driven

And failing that, we cry out in bitter surrender-

Until the Devine may yet deliver-

Seto's eyes shot open instinctively at the shrill cry, as he heard Mokuba's panic, then felt timid hands gently shaking his shoulder. Groggily, Seto forced himself to roll over, propped himself up on elbows, as he raised an irritated eyebrow to Mokuba.

"That's one hell of a good morning if I've ever recieved one, Mokuba. Now, unless somebody is dying-besides me- I hope you have a sound reason for disturbing me. What is it?"

It was seeing Mokuba's stoic glare, and the eyes shining with rage and hurt that jolted Seto from irrate retorts to genuine concern. "Mokuba..what-"

Mokuba said nothing, only launched himself onto the bed, and snatched Seto in his shaking arms as he buried his head in his shoulder. He heard Seto's deep inhalation of breath, an awkward hand pat his shoulder, as he grit his teeth. Mokuba had apparently forgotten that he was frailer now, and it was painful to have such tight arms around his torso. 

"It's the KaibaCorp's Board of Directors, Seto! They're trying to remove you!" Mokuba felt Seto's arms go limp against his shoulder, as he stiffened, with a look of glittering contempt in his eyes, as he ruffled Mokuba's hair with a careful abscence.

"Are they, now?" The question was softly spoken, with a small smirk curling about his lips, before he gave Mokuba a pat of reassurance.

"Mokuba, don't worry about this. You know that I am more than capable of handling this. Now, why don't you go tell the cook to make breakfast downstairs? It's never good to go kick somebody's ass on an empty stomache, is it?"

Waking the Dragon-

Seto raised an irritated eyebrow at the way the expensive business suit now hung off his frame, loosely as a draped sheet, and groaned when he saw how his arm was swallowed by the vast material that was buttoned over the wrist by the pearl cuffs. It was once his favorite outfit-dark shirt that made him feel more powerful, and topped off by the polished shoes and the trench coat with its smart flare at the hips. Now, it sagged and wilted. Seto blanched at the face that peered back at him from the mirror.

His ill health had become more obvious, from the sharpness of his cheekbones, to the shadows under his eyes, and the sheer weariness, and pain that radiated from their depths. There was no more defiance unless he made an effort of supreme will. And for this task, he would need every bit of fierce pride, sneer, sarcasm, and ruthlessness to defend his own. For not the first time, he wondered what would happen if his defenses failed, and cringed inwardly at the thought of breaking down and sobbing at the meeting.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. He was well aware of vicious gossip that would come spilling out of those betraying bastards once they saw him. And, with a realization that nearly forced him to his knees, the comforting thought occurred that in the light of his limited time, and how much he had loathed them in the first place- he no longer cared. They would think what they would, regardless of his own actions, or even the truth. And, truth be told, he was well-aware of the fact that the only reason that the Kaiba Corps Board of Executives even bothered to call the meeting was to probe and pry and make a public spectical of his very guarded and private pain. Seto's lips flexed into a hungry snarl, as he relished the thought of letting them have every bit of his choked back anger, dished out in veiled sarcasm, happily chewing away at whatever logical arguments they presented him with, dancing circles around their collective and clumsy justifications.

It was about time he had that chance.

His eyes narrowed when he saw the time, and waited patiently for Mokuba, who arrived faithfully, with both an elegant glass of wine, and his pain pills waiting.

Seto downed both quickly, gave Mokuba a smile and a reassuring pat, as he allowed his younger brother to help him rise from the wheel chair to the throne like swivel chair. Seto propped himself up, then draped arms casually over the leather, his eyes darting nervously to Mokuba.

Mokuba sighed, wryly. "Seto, quit. You're going to give them the shock of their lives, and probably send them home with their ears bleeding."

Seto rolled his eyes. "Hopefully they don't drip on the leather. It's expensive to clean."

Seto shivered inwardly, as he noted, with a grimace, the ever increasing excess of his suits that once complimented his frame. Now, the material only hung off of him, and even threatened to fall, and he wondered if it were truly wise to proceed with what seemed to be either brilliance or madness. He did not know which it was, and now--

exactly two hours before his last meeting as President of KaibaCorp was certainly not the time to come to this conclusion.

With a snarl of impatience, he yanked the material higher over his hips, only to yelp in dismay when he heard the undeniable sound of

material ripping, and saw to his horror, the gaping hole that was almost strategtically placed in an extremely revealing area. Flushing with

anger, he flung them off, and threw them, barely missing Mokuba's head as he poked a shocked face through the large bedroom door to see what the heck was keepingSeto so occupied. He craned his head to follow the flying pants, and did not bother to hide the snicker, as he heard Seto's huff of annoyance, ashe hastily arranged both covers and his bathrobe to hide anything else, and flushed. Mokuba could not help it. For all his reputed pride, and arrogance,Seto was obscenely modest, and would not tolerate any violation of it, real, or not.

"Seto, if you're so concerned about looking good for this meeting, it might help if you had pants on. Just a thought." Mokuba's snide remark was met with Seto's eyes rolling heavenward, as he waved a dismissing hand.

"To hell with it, Mokuba. If I feel like prancing down there wearing a tutu and heels, they would all apologize, and form a chorus line." Mokuba's guffaw at the image was met by Seto's first genuine smile that he had seen in so long...

"Seto, you're awfully chipper about this, all things considered...are you sure you're ready? I mean...won't this be hard on you to stop?"

Mokuba stopped the stream of intrusive questions when he saw Seto grow silent, and raise his burning, azure eyes to meet Mokuba's storm dark gaze, with a steadying hand quietly laying itself over Mokuba's arm.

"Mokuba, it's going to be hard no matter what I do. I just think it would be easier if I didn't have to handle both dying, and attempting to run KaibaCorp at the same time.I've worked too damn hard, and sacrificed too much to see my company go down in flames because my ego blinded me to the undeniable fact that I'm no longer able to handle the responsibility." Seto's voice was so sad, and weary, as he gratefully accepted the new pair of slacks that Mokuba pressed into his hands, before raising both the pants, and eyebrows uncertainly.

"Mokuba? These aren't dress pants. Hell, they look more like pajamas!"

Mokuba's grin only widened. "You don't have any more pants, Seto. You might as well be comfortable. It's not like they look any different, you know.:

Seto only shook his head. "Compared to your braids and beads, I guess it really doesn't look that different to the untrained eye, little brother. Now, quit being an ass and get me some real pants!"

He had not recalled a time when his stomache had coiled itself into so many tortured knots, nor had he known one time when his nervousness was so balantly obvious, from his tremoring hands, to the flitting glances of his eyes he couldn't halt, unless he closed them. It was in the deathgrip that made his hands cling so tightly to the armrests of his chair, to his irrational fear that he would somehow heave himself onto the floor, to the numbing horror that recoiled in his gut that this would be his final act as President of KaibaCorps. Seto had always wondered, in his darker moments, exactly how it would feel to step down, to surrender. He once made the rather arrogant, and short-sided vow that only death could stop him from running the company. It was the finality that bothered him, and the sudden dismay when he finally allowed himself to realize that his life, and time, now that they were ending, did not revolve around his company or his money. Hell, no. Not now. Whatever time he had left, after this meeting, would be funneled down to making sure that Mokuba was taken care of, that whatever nagging fears he had were resolved to the best that he could hope for, and that his final wishes were respected enough to let it finally be over.He had fought too hard, and given up far too much of his life for it to end any other way.

With the last,nagging minutes, he scowled, as he raised weary eyes towards Heaven, and muttered under his breath his version of a blunt prayer, asking the Almighty to give him the strength to refrain from anything stupid, and forgive him for any screw ups. Inhaling, he sat straight and rigid, his body instinctively resuming its old posture conveying the arrogance that seemed like such an important fragment, now. Just another piece of himself now, gone, though he did not know if it was surrendered, or stolen. With a shrug,he felt his mouth flex itself into the stern, regarding frown, his eyebrows arch in their familiar irritated rise, and his eyes sliding into their narrowed glare of icy, regal distain. His last shields to defend his fraility from the world.

He watched them with seeming indifference, as they paraded in, filing in a neat, orderly line, waiting in rigid attention at each of their seats. They each had gleaming shoes, suits free from wrinkle, or crease, made of the finest material, ties neatly held in place by gold bars, the women, in their expensive, modest attire that reeked of money, and understated elegance, as they all slid into their chairs, in prim, proper, restrained order, when he nodded.

Seto saw from both the sliding eyes, towards him, and the a few of the braver ones gaping at him in open curiosity, until he met their eyes with a forbidding glare of his own, and was pleased to see them bow their heads, dart their eyes away, or do some other evasive action.

He ground his teeth together at the sudden pain, bowed his head, closed his eyes to calm the sickening stupor that gripped his stomach, before he raised his eyes, and met each one of their faces with a calculating grin.

"Don't make yourselves comfortable, folks. This will be very brief." He drummed his fingers against the wood, his eyes glittering with gleeful promise, as he languidly shifted. "It has come to my attention that there has been a certain person here who somehow felt the need to air my private life to the general public. While I applaud that person for the sudden emergence of a backbone to act independently of my constant hand-holding of you ass-kissers, I would hope that when you finally show inititive, you would also demonstrate slightly more intelligence than the average house plant in attempting to stab me in the back. Please don't insult my intelligence by attempting to plead that you are inocent, and that you didn't know what you were doing at the time."

His eyes flickered down in distain,as he raised a hand, casually studying his nails, before snarling, softly. "I don't appreciate having my privacy violated, or having rumors circulated about matters of my health. It's not wise to piss off somebody who has as much wealth, or power as I do, is it, folks? Let me assure you...my payback will be a bitch. Harbor no illusions about that, please. I will willingly accept voluntary resignations, no questions asked til the end of this afternoon. I won't promise a rosy recommendation, but your honesty will yield you at least a bit of severence pay. After that, you'd either have your affairs in order, or win the lottery after I'm done issuing the supeona for the multimillion dollar libel and slander suite I'll be filing tomorrow. If you are truly stupid enough to challenge me on that, I suggest you exercise some common sense, and buy yourselves an ample supply of toilet paper, as you'll be pissing yourselves when I'm done with you. This meeting is now over with. Kindly get back to work."

With that curt nod, and that sadistic smirk, Seto only folded his arms and watched the bowed heads, the slithering glances, and the absolutely cringing directed at him. Seto had to choke down the snort. Power-tripping, on occasion, was highly amusing, even though his threats were largely empty. His pride was wounded, and the betrayal hurt, but he honestly didn't have the sadistic streak, or the effort and energy, or even the desire to destroy somebody else. In light of his limited time, and after an earnest plea from Mokuba to _just for once, big brother, please let this go!_ Seto knew that he honestly wouldn't relish it anyway.

Seto was slightly more than pissed, and if he admitted it to himself, hurt, from the stunning volume of resignations he had received at the end of the work day. Mokuba had slunk into his office, with his shoulders apologetically slumped as he awkwardly lay the stack of sheets on Seto's desk, timidly lingering as he saw Seto's eyebrow rise, and his eyes narrow, while the only sound was his measured breathing.

"Mokuba." Seto's eyes slid up from the papers to his brother's troubled eyes, as he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "We need to talk."

Mokuba's eyes widened, as he straightened in the the chair, curiously. Seto stared down at his hands, chewing on his lip, and Mokuba was shocked to realize that his brother was actually..._nervous._

"Seto?" came the kind prompt, "What is it?"

"I need to know a few things, Mokuba. Understand that I'm not trying to invade your privacy, but there are a few things we could discuss tonight that would make...my situation...easier to bear."

Mokuba nodded, curiously, troubled even more to see the raw anguish that rose to Seto's eyes. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "Mokuba, I'm trying my damnest to spare you from any needless suffering, and I hope that you know that, however the pathetic attempt may be, or how useless the outcome.Do you believe that, little brother? Do you know that I'm trying?"

Mokuba abruptly rose from his chair and flung himself into Seto's arms as gently as he could, engulfing his brother in one of his beloved, impulsive embraces. Indeed, Mokuba was the only one that Seto could stand invading his personal space in such an encompassing way.

"Seto, I thought we discussed this! I love you, and I know you're doing the best you can in an impossible situation. I'm not going to judge you for that, Seto! It's not your fault that you're sick! You didn't do anything to deserve this, and to hell with anybody who thinks otherwise!" Mokuba spat, as he

squeezed Seto's shoulder, and stooped to look into his eyes.

"I don't know why you insist on torturing yourself like this, big brother. I don't expect you to be a super human, or a machine. I know you better than anybody else in the world, Seto, and I love you, knowing everything you've done, and all the things you think you have to atone for. Please, believe me when I tell you this. I don't want you to be a sub-human machine. I don't expect you to put on an act for the world, or for my benefit. I don't want you to.

I want our last months together to be free of the lies, so you can be unshackled from all this pain, and get yourself ready for heaven, where I'll join you one day. _That's_ what counts, Seto. Making the most of _now."_

"Be that as it may, Mokuba...I wanted to spare you as much as possible, and it would ease my mind considerably if you'd just hear me out...please?"

Mokuba smiled in understanding, and sat back down, as Seto gave him a look of deep gratitude, as he grunted with effort and hefted a dark leather satchel onto the desk. It landed with a dull thud, as Mokuba stared at it, curiously.

Seto gestured with a flourish and a satisfied smirk. "This is my last will and testiment, complete with my final wishes for my going away ceremony, the burial plot, along with what I've laid aside for your provision. Needless to say, you, your children, their children, and their grand children should be set for life. I've ordered a sizable number of KaibaCorp's assets to be set apart as funding for cancer research, as well as plans for a new division of research and developement funds to be initiated at the time of my death to go towards discovering treatments and cures. It's cheesy, I know..."Seto shrugged, awkwardly. "But, oddly enough, I've discovered in these last few months that I do indeed have something that resembles a heart...and I would hope, in some perverse way, that this pain can be redeemed by sparing somebody else, even if I'm not here to see it happen. What do you think ,Mokuba?"

Mokuba's eyes flickered over the various documents, wide-eyed, and disbelieving, before turning back to Seto. "Seto..." he whispered, "You have thought of everything! When did you have time to do all this?"

Seto only smiled, tiredly, but satisfied.


	25. Entrophy

Seto had once heard a subordinate complain that the cold-eyed billionaire made her feel "ill at ease," because she could

not understand how he could even consider himself human. Seto had fired her outright, for no reason other than his pissy mood,

and he relished the power from her helpless tears. It was strange how that insignificant memory seemed to haunt him now.

Strange, indeed, how many times his habits of cruelty, and deliberate disregard for all he considered inferior-and he cringed

at the number, now, came back and tormented him, once more. It was no more than what he deserved, he was humble enough

to admit that, _now._ Mistakes he could not make right. Words he could not take back. Wounds he had inflicted for the hell of it, and with

a bitter swallow of his tea, Seto acknowledged with a wince, lives he had carelessly destroyed along the way. All of the pain he had

inflicted, coming back now, that he had to figure out a way to atone for, or live with. He had made his peace with it, once he realized that

there was nothing to be done but pray, and give it up, or else deal with the unnecessary torture he could no longer bear. Indeed, he realized

with sickening awareness...in one rare, brave moment, he allowed himself to drift back to his desperate, and thankfully, unsuccessful

suicide attempt, and realized that it was the hopelessness, and not the actual knowledge of his death that drove him to it in the first place.

Indeed, he mused, bitterly. If _death_ was what made him so stupidly terrorized, it was hardly a smart move to do anything that would hasten

it along.

Atonement...Seto's characteristic scowl had deepened considerably, when he considered the task he had taken upon himself...ending the

awkward distance between him and Yami. He figured he owed Yami that much, after enduring so much without complaint, except for the occasional

martyr's speech, and those well-aimed barbs that prodded Seto into painful, but necessary realizations that he would not get anywhere else.

It was Yami who saved his life, it was Yami who helped break that silent wall between him and Mokuba, and ...here, Seto's cheeks flamed at the horrible memory...it was Yami who found him covered in vomit, and did nothing to wound him more, but mop up the considerable amount of puke, and respect Seto's boundaries. After the brutal shouting match with Yugi, and Seto's cruel dismissal at his apology, Yami had, of course, stayed away, as well.

Seto wasn't sure if Yami misunderstood that Seto wasn't blaming him for Yugi's actions, or that he had taken Yugi's side. All Seto knew was that

given his limited time, he didn't want to leave that bitterness unattended to. He did not trouble himself to wonder if either one of them would miss him,

or even bother to attend his funeral. If they did, he hoped that it was honest grief and not social obligation that rendered their appearance. He allowed a bitter chuckle. Surely he was worth more to a few people than token appearances.

So, it was with that reasoning, that Seto, for the first time, extended the awkwardly offered olive branch, by begrudgingly asking Mokuba to casually

inquire if Yami might be available to bring Yugi over..yet again...to the Kaiba mansion, for nothing more than a casual lunch. Instinctively, Seto knew that Yami was most likely brooding over the rift, and torn between his loyalty to Yugi, and his odd friendship with Kaiba, even if neither admitted to it, or called each other that. Seto preferred the terms of "mutual tolerance," or "acceptable level of a higher comfort zone," but aside from Mokuba, Yami was the only one he outright trusted with his illness, and the only one he could have complete honesty with.

Mokuba, to Seto's suprise, had exercised a remarkable amount of charitable forgivness. He did not speak of whatever conversation had transpired between him and Yugi, and he did not feel like it was his place to probe. Mokuba never asked what was spoken to Yami, either, only accepted and welcomed the duelist into their private circle because he had won Seto's acceptance, and had proven to be worthy of it, time and time again.

The bickering between the two of them might have been amusing, had the verbal blades they flung at each other not cut so deeply. It was rare, indeed, for Yugi to disagree with Yami, but it was even rarer to see Yugi's usual cheer fade into brooding, bitter, narrowed-eyed coldness when he had adamantly refused to visit Kaiba.

Yami was at a loss, himself. He knew that Yugi was still mightily irritated, if not wounded from his last encounter, but the refusal to forgive was so outlandish from his normally saintly partner, that he found Yugi's harsh dismissal harder to understand than Kaiba's tentative invitation to talk.

"Talk?! Talk?! Yami, what does that haunty, cold-hearted, arrogant, rich bastard possibly want from me? From us?! Maybe you can allow him to play on your guilt and your sense of obligation to keep you chained to his beck and call, but I'm done with the whole thing, and done with him, Yami. If you want to go over there, fine. Just leave me out of it, alright?" Yugi had spat irritably with a resolute crossing of his arms, and an even more unforgiving scowl.

Yami's face nearly crumbled in shock, and Yugi flinched with old empathy when he saw Yami slump. "Look, Yami." Yugi's voice was soft, as he lay a

comforting hand on Yami's shoulder.

"I'm not telling you what to do, and I'm not going to keep you from visiting, if that's what you want. I just wonder _why_."

Yami only heaved a weary sigh, as he crossed his arms, and sank back slowly into the couch, lowering his head, and biting his lip.

"I mean, think about it, Yami. You saved his life after his suicide attempt, you nursed Mokuba through that whole episode, and you've been there for him through all of this, and I have yet to see the high and mighty Kaiba say so much as a thank you to you. You don't owe him a damn thing, and you're not going to change anything."

Yami's searing eyes slid up to his, as he slowly shook his head, giving Yugi a kindly condensending smile.

"And, what would you do, Yugi, if you were in Kaiba's situation? How would you want to be treated?"

Yugi only shook his head sadly. "Flipping things around like this won't work with me, Yami. I don't know how I would react, honestly, but I would still hope I wouldn't act like Kaiba. What I'm not understanding is why you're suddenly so questioning of my treatment of Kaiba-which, by the way, is the way most people would react to somebody who's treated them like crap for years-but so tolerant of Kaiba, when he's only milked this terminal illness thing to

every last tear drop. I am sympathetic to the situation, Yami. It just doesn't do anything to change the fact that Kaiba is a selish, arrogant, spoiled brat, and you seem to ignore the fact that dying isn't doing anything to change that in him."

Yami stared at Yugi, his eyes storming with some emotion that Yugi could not name, before Yami shook his head.

"I see."

Yugi sighed, and suddenly turned to Yami, with an icy glare. "No, you don't _see,_ Yami. I respect the fact that you consider yourself to be Kaiba's friend.

I may not agree with it, but I'm not forbidding you to see him. All I'm telling you is to please, please, make sure you don't get so entangled with his drama that you lose yourself. After all, Yami, you'll have to deal with the aftermath much longer than Kaiba."

Yami winced at the nonchalant, heartless truth that Yugi had so callously introduced anew, and recoiled under Yugi's hand on his shoulder with a jerk.

"So, you won't visit him, then."

Yugi arched an eyebrow high, questioningly. "This is really eating at you, isn't it?"

Yami ran a weary hand though his hair, and sighed, before relunctantly nodding. "Yes, Yugi, it is. I know that it only comfirms everything you feared, and for that I apologize, but-"

"Yami." Yugi silenced the unpleasant flood of unwelcome words with a shake of his head, and a more typical, radiating smile of understanding.

"There's nothing wrong with having a heart, Yami. I just don't want yours to be broken in this. There's not going to be a happy ending when he dies, Yami.

I know that you know that, but I don't quite think you've accepted that, yet. And, it's Kaiba's job to work through Kaiba's issues, not yours. But..."

Yugi shrugged, before giving Yami another kind smile.

"If it really means that much to you, I'll go with you to visit Kaiba again..one more time, alright? But...only if you understand that I'm doing this for you, and you're not expecting some rosy rainbows and sunshine by mistake. Kaiba and I have never been on the best of terms, before all of this, so if you're expecting anything besides my hearing him out, I don't want you to be disappointed, alright? Besides, Mokuba is my friend, and I don't want him to have to face this alone. I know it's not much, Yami, but it's the best I can do. Agreed?"

Yami only nodded. "Thank you, Yugi. This means a lot to me."

Yugi snorted.


	26. Polarity

Polarity...

"Rainbows, puppies, bunnies, and various other fluffy, cute animals merrily frolicking in a field of flowers while they sing and dance." Mokuba snorted, as he allowed a mildly amused smirk to emerge after hearing Seto's sarcastic suggestion for what direction he would like to see KaibaCorps go. It was a languid, peaceful day, with a sky that was piercingly bright, weather that was unseasonably refreshing and warm, and Seto himself was feeling remarkably well, and even up to working.

"Only if I get to wear feathers and heels at some point." Seto smoothly retorted, as Mokuba descentigrated into howls of laughter and succeeded in spewing his orange juice all over the table. With a raised eyebrow, Seto dabbed at the mess, distainfully, as he threw the towel to Mokuba with a deepening scowl.

"You don't believe that heels and feathers are an appropriate look on me, Mokuba?" Seto masterfully conveyed a comical look of utter dismay, and Mokuba only disolved into hysterics to the point that he was doubled over, belly aching.

Seto huffed sarcastically, before allowing a smile to break through, as he pat Mokuba's shaking arm, and waited for his brother to regain his self-control.

Mokuba finally rose from his rolling on the floor, as he wiped a tear from his eye, and giggled. "Seto, I never knew that you could be so damn kinky."

Seto only shook his head, tolerantly. "It relieves tension. What can I say?"

Mokuba snorted again. It was such a sweet, sweet relief to be able to jest and joke, to be free to laugh and enjoy his brother again, without that hard veil of veneer and guarded pain that he presented to the rest of the world.

"You know, Seto..." Mokuba ventured, uncertain of how to word his next comment, or even if he should continue, knowing how Seto loathed having his quirks pointed out...

Seto stared at Mokuba, his eyes suddenly wary and intently focused. He knew that searching, imploring tone all too well. Mokuba only bit back the words when he saw Seto tilt his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "There's something you want to say, Mokuba. Go ahead."

Mokuba sighed, and nodded, before peering up at Seto behind his dark bangs. For one moment, Seto was awed to see the shadow of his little sibling looking so young, and afraid, that it made his heart clench.

"It's nothing much, big brother...other than it's sort of a shame that you never let anybody else see you like this."

Seto stiffened, as he rose to peer at Mokuba, with a vague sadness in his eyes, before he softly asked, "Like what, Mokuba?"

Mokuba only shook his head, as he started gathering up the remains of the breakfast dishes with much unwarrented haste, and only pausing to give Seto a troubled glance. "Nothing, Seto. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything, alright?"

"You mean human, don't you?"

The cold barb from the words made Mokuba's back stiffen, as the dishes in his hands quivered, before he turned to Seto, with eyes that were just as icy as his brother's.

"That's not how I meant it, Seto, and you know that. I thought one of my redeeming points in being such a liability for so long was the fact that you never had to be so closed off and guarded, and watching everything you say and do as if the survival of the world depended on it."

The two brothers stared at each other, Mokuba's eyes brimming with the depths of the sea in undercurrents of turmoil, and Seto's eyes volital as the sky before a storm.

Seto sighed, lowered his head, shook it. "I'm sorry." It was a harsh, contrite whisper, as one pale, shaking hand slid up to Mokuba's steady, darker one, for absolution.

"You didn't deserve that, Mokuba. Forgive me." Mokuba gave him a soft smile of understanding suffering, as he nodded. "Consider it done, Seto."

It had been nearly two hours later that the leisurely good cheer had vanished, and Seto had, unfortunately, but predictably, drifted back into his moody silence. The darkness of his mood was only enhanced by Yami's equally, and painfully obvious uncertainty, and Yugi's completely flummoxed glances between the two of them, as if seeking some sort of direction. Mokuba had only folded his arms, glowered at Yugi, and stood at Seto's side, protectively as a guard dog, before Seto irritably poked his side, and gestured towards the chair. The situation was already volital enough without Mokuba's deliberate provocation. Mokuba gave Seto a hurt look, as Seto squeezed his arm apologetically.

With a relunctant nod, Mokuba sat in the chair beside Seto, but still maintained his hostile stare at Yugi, as if he wished to peel the very bones from his flesh underneith the power of that glare.

Yugi only looked at him with a raised eyebrow, opened his mouth, then shook his head, lowered it, and closed his mouth, while Yami only gripped his arm in reassurance and craned his neck to face Mokuba, with a warning shake of his head.

The silent standoff seemed to be unending, and Seto felt the unacknowledged humiliation at this utter travesty of a calm discussion bring fresh flame to his cheeks. Yami peered up at him, clearly sympathetic, while Mokuba only resumed his glower at Yugi, who seemed to wilt even further.

Suprisingly, it ended when Yugi suddenly removed Yami's arm from under his, and straightened to his full dimunitive height to peer at Kaiba, with no flinching, or looking away, or hesitation.

"May I speak with you alone, Seto?" Seto's eyebrows climbed a bit high, as he sat back, considering the request.

"I want this resolved as much as you do, Seto. Even if you don't accept my apology, or just use this as another chance to sneer at me, I want this resolved...so...please...may I speak with you alone?"

Yugi's question was uncertain, and wary, as Seto exchanged glances with Mokuba, who silently nodded.

"I think...that would be a very wise idea...Yugi. " Seto bit back the word 'runt,' and was almost ashamed at how alien addressing Yugi by his first name felt.

Mokuba rose, gave Yugi another warning glance, before shifting towards Yami, with a pathetic pretense. "Maybe you and I can review Duel Monsters, or something?"

Yami snorted in wry amusement. "That would be excellent, Mokuba."

Even with the several feet of height lost to his being in a wheelchair, Seto was still eyelevel with Yugi, who walked a respectful distance behind Seto's retreating back, though there was no trace of cowering. Indeed, Yugi seemed to glide forth as if he had suddenly been graced with Yami's self-assurance, and it was truly an odd change for Seto to observe. Was this a gift from Yami, or was this odd exchange of sweetness for pride some form of tribute that Yugi was forced to yield, like Seto's own independence?

Seto scowled at that thought. He knew the world respected and accepted power and egotism, so long as you could back it up. Innocence, faith, and kindness were the things that opened people to being consumed alive, and Yugi, from his own limited experience, once had all three in abundance.

Now, before him stood a straight-backed, resolute, dimunitive figure, who peered at Kaiba warily, with concern, but guarded, concealed pain.

Seto sighed, sadly. It was truly a sad thing when his own personality was enough to draw Yugi Moto into such vindictive cruelty. Seto passingly acknowledged his own faults by his own heartless goading, and smearing Yugi's sincere attempt to make things right into his face like one would rub a dog's nose in its own helpless filth after a mistake. And Seto knew, from his own tortured memories of Gozaburo, how much that simply goaded him further into angry bitterness.

Yugi watched Seto's struggle with the door, then with a respectful dip of his own head, reached forward, and pulled it open, stepping aside for Seto to wheel his way through.

The look on Seto's eyes could have rivaled hell itself, as he drew one lip back in an instinctive snarl. Yugi remained by the door, head bowed, but violet eyes watching him, as Seto attempted to detect any sort of mocking. There was nothing behind Yugi's polite gesture, apparently, other than the simple social manner that it was polite to hold the door open for somebody in a wheel chair. Indeed, from the guarded hunch of his back, to the twitching hand on the door knob, Seto could see that Yugi's gesture was not forced, but now, regretfully reconsidered, just as much as Seto was now forced to either snarl, or roll through with silent acceptance.

He heard Yugi's sigh, as the dimunitive figure finally raised his head, his brows drawn sharply downward in confused anguish. "I'm sorry if it was the wrong thing to do, Seto. I wasn't trying to rub anything in." Yugi's soft voice was met with Seto's eyes widening in shock at the perceptiveness. Seto only allowed a regal huff, and a curt nod, as he forced himself to glide forward, spinning the chair sharply to see Yugi's hands slowly slide away and his relunctant

slinking into the room. Seto raised an eyebrow to see Yugi stepping along as if he were navigating through a minefield, each step wary, and every glance towards Seto looking as if he were a rabid tiger ready to claw his throat out.

"I know that you weren't." Seto's rather subdued reply startled Yugi, as he jerked his head upward. "I'm sorry?"

Seto flung an irritated hand at the door. "I know you weren't trying to make it patently obvious that I am in a weakened position due to my inability to sustain extended mobility without the aid of this damn chair. The question, Yugi, is if your apparent, and may I admit, sudden kindness towards me stems from the fact that I'm dying, and you're feeling guilty, or if you feel obligated to Yami to smooth things over?"

Yugi stared at him, wide-eyed, looking as if he had swallowed his tongue, actually. Yugi hesitated a long, and necessary moment to sift through the strange and extremely loaded questions before he managed the most tactful answer possible.

"Seto...do you understand that I'm nothing like Yami in dealing with this, and with you? I _am_ sorry that you're going through this. I don't think there's anything too weird about having sympathy about that, and if it offends you...I'm sorry for that, too, Seto. I'm not as smart, or as understanding as Yami is when it comes to ..._this._ I'm not clever at dancing around the issues, and I'm no good at deciphering whatever you're trying to tell me right now, Seto. I'm glad that you were generous enough to give me another chance to clear the air between us, but I don't think it will do any good unless you tell me _why_."

Seto's eyes bulged, before he forced them into familiar, narrowed coldness, as he tilted his head to the side, considering Yugi, and once again, stunned by the perception of his statement. For one moment, he was torturedly suspicious that maybe he and Yami were using their alledged mindlink, but dismissed as offhand bull

"For somebody who doesn't have Yami's alledged perception, you summerize the situation rather well, Yugi." Seto said, quietly.

"As to why I invited you here-again-I imagine that it stems from the same reason why you came. You want this over with."

Yugi's head jerked up sharply, alarmed, and misunderstanding. To hear a dying man say 'over with' was quite unnerving, until Seto only gave a bitter chuckle of harsh understanding.

"Don't piss yourself, Yugi. I was merely referring to your candid little rant, and my response to it, not my actual demise. Rest assured, I'm not going to just drop dead. Believe me, dying, unfortunately, is never that simple."

Yugi's eyes only widened, as he sucked in a sharp inhalation of breath. "Breath-taking, isn't it-how casually I can speak of my own demise? It's rendered you speechless, hasn't it?"

Seto smirked, but his voice hinted only of weary sadness, and not sneering sarcasm that Yugi had expected.

"I don't know if I'd call it breath-taking, Seto...but it seems that you've...accepted the situation remarkably well.." Yugi said softly, with a cautious shrug.

"As have you. My congratulations, to you, Yugi, for not being so bogged down in the nasty little details about me dying, or suffering to confront me with nothing less but rude, fierce and refreshing honesty. Not even Yami has accomplished that, but I thought your normally sunny disposition would keep you from doing that sort of thing. I owe you my thanks." Seto stated flatly.

Yugi's forehead crinkled in absolute confusion. Was Seto trying to provoke him again, insulting him, or _thanking _him?! Yugi shook his head.

"I don't know what to say to that." The honest admission made Seto's eyebrow quirk, as his lips curled into the smallest hint of a smile.

"Again, the honesty, where I'd expect cringing tact, especially from you. Rest assured, Yugi, I'm not attempting a head-game with you, nor am I insulting you."

"So...you're _thanking_ me? I'm sorry, Seto, but you've completely lost me." Yugi admitted with a helpless shrug.

Seto allowed the bitter smirk to emerge, as he settled back in his chair. "I don't owe you an explanation, or acceptance of your apology, Yugi. And you don't owe me any contrite, fake speeches about how sorry you are, or how sorry you are for my dying. _Sorry_ does not change the fact that I'm dying._ Sorry_

doesn't make any of this right."

Yugi bowed his head, and shook his head, before whispering, guiltily, "Then,_what does_, Seto? I have apologized, several times. I know that I have no control of you accepting it, but, that doesn't mean I'm apologizing because I feel guilty over what I said, Seto. I apologized because what I said was wrong, and that's the only thing I know to do to make it right. I've really done all I can do about this, Seto. And, I have enough respect for you to not humor you with lies, even if you don't believe anything that comes out of my mouth. And, no, that's not because I feel guilty, either. It's because it would be wrong of me." 

Seto just shook his head, and stared at Yugi with nothing more than sad understanding, and weary resignation. "I know that you came here expecting to be flayed alive, or being led through a labyrith of headgames, Yugi. Suffice it to say that I've never gotten the satisfaction you seem to think I derive of grilling shrimp."

Yugi's eyes bulged at the absurity of Seto's comment, completely, and perhaps, mercifully missing Seto's insult.

Seto only sighed, and stared at Yugi. "At this point, Yugi, I have very little time to waste on petty insults, or deliberately pissing people off just because I happened to get some sort of power-tripping thrill from it, once upon a day. Suffice it to say that I have moved on, forgiven you, absolved you of your sin,

which ever terminology that you find easiest to accept. There's been a lot of...bad blood between us, and mayhaps this is my attonement for it, I don't know, and I don't really think it matters now."

Yugi's smile radiated in the same old inocence that both perturbed, and saddened Seto with a strange twinge of envy. To be able to let go of anger that quickly would have been gift he could have used a long time ago.

"Thank you, Seto. And, I know it's not much...but if there's anything I can do to ...help you through this, all you have to do is ask, alright?"

Seto's mouth pulled itself into a considering frown, as his eyes slowly slid back to Yugi's. The guarded expression was back, and Seto had to force himself to continue, so afraid of the wide, vulnerabilty he would soon expose by his next words...

"If you want to do anything for me, Yugi, be there for Mokuba when all this is over."

It was a simple, heart-breaking request, and suprisingly, Seto did not mock Yugi for the tears that suddenly rose from his eyes.

"Of course."

Seto gave him a curt nod of thanks.


	27. Seeking, Part One

Mokuba noticed that Yami's eyes narrowed in concern when he saw Yugi's shadow lighting over the floor, before he saw the warm, bright eyes, and the usual smile back in place. The bitter worry on Yami's face softened to a wry smirk of understanding and gratitude when Seto glided in after him. Seto wore his typical, glacial glare, and Yami was not suprised when Seto only quirked an eyebrow in acknowledgement, then mouthed out of Yugi's hearing, "You will be most pleased to know that I did not grill the shrimp, Yami. I think he's been absolved to your satisfaction."

Seto watched as Yami peered once more at Yugi, who was slowly building a conversation with Mokuba, who seemed to be following his elder brother's charitable mode of forgiveness. Soon, the two were yapping like old friends. Seto watched them both with unmistakeable sadness, as he crossed his arms and retreated behind his usual scathing veneer, preparing to make a snide remark about "sunshine and bullshit," to get rid of some of the horrible awkwardness that seemed to plague his charitable deeds. He cringed at that thought. Was he really so depraved that he had to smear every decent thing he did in an attempt to absolve himself of his own fear? Was he really that much of an ass?! Yami saw the broken thought as it flinched pale and mean across Seto's face, before it was masterfully smoothered under the cold mask, of Seto's sigh.

Yami's eyes were piercing as he pivoted to Seto, hands open in placating, as he stared openly for Seto's attention. Seto narrowed his eyes, curious, tilted his head, and Yami only whispered in

kind understanding, "When I first emerged from the Puzzle, I faced the same difficulty in navigating what never came naturally. You've faced bigger dragons and have slayed them."

Seto jerked his head in Yami's direction, his eyes wide in violated shock at how deeply the words resignated. Then, he winced as his defenses fell, exposing what he had so ferverently fought to

conceal. He had no choice but to turn away, to collect himself.

Yami flinched at the unexpected reaction, he had only hoped to repay Seto a bit of kindness for what he had done for Yugi, not drag him down into the awkward, tormenting silence and leave him

completely vulnerable. He gave a troubled glance to Yugi, who was still engrossed with Mokuba's conversation. Yugi gave him a radiating smile, and Yami forced himself to smile back, nodding.

Seto clawed his fingers through his hair, hastily dropped his hands, and forced down the rising

desire to sob helplessly. What strange madness was swirling in his gut to bring forth the sudden, desperate urge to completely collapse into wailing hysterics, he did not know. But, he could feel the regal restraint disolving like ice in warm water, trickling away beyond his failing control.

He heard Yami's soft bark of his name, as he rose subtly, not wishing to draw any more embarrassing scrutiny to Seto's obvious distress.

Humiliated at his sudden volital emotions, Seto sent Yami a pleading look, then a panicked glance at Mokuba. "I..I don't want him to see me like this, Yami."

Yami only nodded in grim understanding, sighed, and rose elegantly, carefully stepping forward to shield Seto's pale face and his shaking hands. He gave Mokuba and Yugi a distant, polite smile, before announcing, in his most eloquent barritone, "If you two don't mind, Seto and I will resume our conversation in the sitting room so that you two can catch up."

Yugi gave Yami a questioning look, and was met with a forbidding shake of Yami's head, as he resolutely turned on one heel to leave. Mokuba blurted out Seto's name, in obvious demand for an explanation for his sudden desire for privacy.

Seto only smirked, glanced at Yami, and shook his head. "We're going to have an adult conversation about how my Blue-Eyes will be eating Yami's cards for breakfast, Mokuba. I know that you are bored to tears with such conversation, so I thought I would give you an easy out."

Mokuba snorted, and waved. "Fine, fine, Seto. You old farts need to reminence anyway."

Seto was already wheeling his way out of the living room, after giving his brother the obligatory smirk. Strange how such a simple gesture-nothing more than an instinctive reflex, seemed to weigh so much more. Seto grit his teeth at the ache in his cheeks from maintaining the facade.

It crumbled when he was finally away from Mokuba's viewing.

Trembling, he buried his face in his hands, and sighed with a gut wrenching wince when he saw Yami's wary approach, as Yami halted respectfully, the guarded concern twisting his mouth uncertainly.

"Will it make this easier on you if I leave, or stay, Seto?" Seto was grateful for the blunt question.

Yami knew by now it would be a waste of time and completely out of his character to offer meaningless soothing whimpers. Seto would have considered it condensending and even more humiliating.

Seto's eyes slid up from his clenched fingers, that were still buried in his hair, caged by the pale digits now trembling even more, as Seto only sighed with infinite pain.

"You have the damnest talent of seeing me at my worst, Yami." His voice was soft, and the smirk was brittle to the point of breaking.

Yami only shook his head, sadly, as he stopped his nervous pacing to face Seto with both hands stuffed uselessly under his shoulders, his searching eyes meeting Seto's with the bitterest of understandings confirmed.

"Seto, are you still so foolish?"

Seto blanched as if he had been slapped, as Yami bent to his eye level, and only stared, his eyes

hardening with what Seto misinterpreted as disgust at his weakness, and responded to the assumed cruelty with his typical venom to hide how deeply Yami's words had cut.

"Excuse me all to _hell_ for being remotely human enough to wound, Yami! What in the f--- would you even know about what I'm going through?!"

Seto paled even more, as he clutched his stomach. Yami, seeing the bowed, white face, sprinted for the trash can, as Seto snarled out, "Put the damn thing away, Yami! It's not that! What the hell is wrong with-"

The trash can was uncerimoniously flung down in front of Seto's face as Yami's irritation yielded only to surrender as he slumped, and only stared at Seto for a long, painful moment.

"Are you still so foolish as to think that I would ever censor you for being ill?! For the treacherous act of tears when you're dying? For being kind enough to forgive a cruelty and saving Yugi a lifetime of guilt, or attempting to salvage some sort of meaning from all of this pain, or pouring your remaining time into protecting your brother?! Seto, I am not even going to attempt to fathom what sort of horrors you lived through to taint every scrap of human decency you have with so much doubt and pain. That is in the past, and that is yours. If you wish to divulge, I'll listen,or not...but, for your own sake, as well as all who have any regard for you...you must stop this torturing of yourself! After all that you've suffered, do you sincerely believe you are unworthy of

some peace and resolution from all of this?"

Seto was so close to weeping at the moment, he could stand no more. With his frayed nerves, and last renmant of restraint, he stared up at Yami, with his shattered veneer so humilatingly

exposed, to shake his head, and still maintain that bleeding, broken smirk.


	28. Realizations

"I don't know!!" The words exploded from his lips before he could even begin to piece together his absolutely shattered defenses, and he shivered in misery at knowing that he was now wide open for the wounding, the pity. Any of it, all of it, things he could not stand to face, his mask falling down and every

illusion of pretentious self-protection absolutely failing in his most tortured moment. The beasts were coiling

in his gut, ready with their teeth.

Weakly, Seto forced his shaking hands away from their death grip on his face, and made the pathetic attempt to fold them serenely onto his lap. His head was bowed, and Yami was silent, either out of respect for Seto's obvious distress, or because there was absolutely nothing that Yami could say to make any of this

even...bearable.

"Seto." Yami's voice was soft, and cautious. Seto forced himself to look up at him, as if expecting a blow.

Yami sighed, shook his head in dismissal at whatever thought he had, and stared at Seto, sadly for long, patient moments. The silence was too loud, too tense. But any words he could say sounded so course and unwanted, Yami opted for the terse quiet.

Finally, the silence was broken with Seto's irritated twitch of his shoulders, as he whispered, harshly,

"That's just it, Yami. I don't know. All of this...it's just too much. It's too damn much! I've been choking it down, holding it in, keeping it away from the surface...and I feel like I'm either on the verge of total collapse, or insanity."

"And it's killing you, Seto." Yami's quiet voice sounded like thunder over the roaring of Seto's own pulse

steadily throbbing in his head.

Seto waved a hand of dismissal at the air between them, as if he could brush away the unwelcome observation by his own will. "Oh, please, Yami, spare me the bullshit. This cancer will kill me long before any sort of emotional volitility ever will."

"Oh?" The savage sarcasm was emphasized by Yami's arched eyebrow, as he folded his arms and shook his head in disgust.

"Then what sort of emotional happiness compelled your suicide attempt, Kaiba? If these emotions are so readily dismissed, then what exactly made you so desperate for an escape?"

The sarcastic barb made Seto wince in memory of his stupid mistake, as he braced arms against his trembling side and crumbled with guilt and anger at Yami for reminding him of it. Of all he needed now, penance for his most gaping act of desperation that he could not change was not one of them. He gave Yami a wince and a glare, as he shook his head, growling softly, "Why are you bringing that up now, Yami?

If I could take it back, I would! Can't any of you dumbasses get that?! I regret it!! It was stupid, and selfish, and wrong, and I regret it more than you can even begin to imagine. I'm living with it now, and I'll be dying with it! Isn't that enough for you? Or are you just bringing that up as a cheap shot to make this even harder? Go ahead, Yami. I won't even bother defending myself right now. You and I both know that there's no defenses against my mistakes. Haven't I proven that time and time again?" He concluded the hopeless rant with a twitch of his shoulders, slumping like a war banner being lowered in surrender at the last blow.

Yami's eyes bulged, as he tilted his head to the side, lips twisting into a deeper scowl of concern, as he saw

Seto's anguish so raw it was practically bleeding. Yami swallowed, self-loathing teasing the back of his throat, and threatening to errupt. Yami wasn't exactly sure what cruel impulse made him blurt out any reference to Seto's attempt, but it was viciously uncalled for to call it forth and torment somebody who was already hurting so deep. As much as Seto's arrogant, cold attitude used to irritate him, it was so much more preferable to this beaten, broken surrender that he had no idea how to handle in any good way.

"Forgive me, Seto, please. It was petty and vicious for me to even bring that subject up. I don't even know why I-"

"You brought it up for the same reason that Yugi gave me his little bitch-fest." The words were laced with Seto's old fire, as he allowed for a brittle chuckle, softly harsh, and sounding like broken glass from his curled lips.

"Neither one of you has the vaguest idea of what the hell you do with my dying. Allow me to enlighten you on something that you're missing, Yami." Seto beckoned him closer, with a sarcastically conspirital voice, and an exaggerated glance around the room, as if he were unveiling the secret of life.

"I don't have any damn clue how to handle this either." Seto whispered with a smirk. "Do you not see that, Yami? I don't know how to handle this any better. Everything is so...tainted,and screwed up, and painful, and unrelentless. People either walk around me on eggshells, in a pathetic attempt to lessen some of it, or they carry on with so much indifference that I want to scream and tear my hair out, but I'm not allowed to do that, because it scares Mokuba so much. I just...hell, I don't know any more, Yami. That was the reason why I did it in the first place, don't you get that?!"

Yami shook his head, raised a hand to stop the flood of irrate objections as he sat down beside Seto, quite ready to stand back up if Seto's personal space seemed to be in question.

"What exactly made you attempt it, Seto? What...broke you so much that you would even consider taking that route? Explain it to me."

"Fear!" Seto spat out, grimacing as if he tasted something unpleasant. "I was afraid, damn it! Is that what you want to hear? I was afraid! I was afraid, and it..just overwhelmed my reason in a particularly weak moment."

Yami stared at him, raised an eyebrow, and shook his head with a soft sigh, and spoke Seto's name with an even softer voice, "You are hardly one that has ever surrendered to a rash impulse, and you waited until you were by yourself, with a carefully prescibed arrangement that would have taken weeks to gather that amount of medication. Forgive me if I sound blunt, Seto, but that 'weak moment' seemed to have a much longer time in deliberate intention and planning to be just a spur of the moment decision. You planned it out, and you had every intention of killing yourself. Please don't patronize me with any more lies."

Seto's eyes had resumed their glacial blue, and he calmly regained his veneer with the ease of somebody putting on a garment, as he wheeled himself to face Yami, his cold, hard mask firmly back in place.

"What is your point, Yami?"

Yami sat back, looking tired and old, as he shook his head. "It will sound cruel of me to say this, Seto, but you prefer brutal, unflinching honesty to sweetly worded bull. You came so close to actually going through with it, that they were not sure that you were going to survive the night, did you know that?"

Seto's eyes blazed over with unexpected tears, as he shook his head, numbly. Yami stared at him, bitterly nodding at the confirmation.

"Forgive me, for asking you this, Seto. Please, forgive me, but answer, even if it's only to spew out your sarcasm and beat me senseless. Do you have any idea how tormenting it is for me to see you falling down the same pattern of overwhelming fear, and be so afraid that you'll...do something rash and impulsive again? It absolutely shattered Mokuba when you were found in that pile of pills, Seto. But he wasn't the only one who was scarred by it." Yami shook his head, in grieving understanding, as Seto stared up at him, jaw slack, and eyes even wider at the astonishing admission.

"I will mourn your passing as a friend, Seto, and not out of guilt, or obligation. I'll mourn your passing because you deserve to be grieved over, and I'll miss you. But, please, please. Make this at least a bit more easy by giving your friends the chance to help you through this, in whatever way we can. When you leave, the memories of us doing something for you will be a greater comfort than even you can fathom."


	29. In Darkness and In Light

"I can't." The tortured whisper was emphasized by the hitching,negating hitch and slump of Seto's shoulders, as he drew arms across his chest, and shook his head.

"I spent the last decade of my life building this company with my own sweat, efforts, and time, all of it in a rather pathetic attempt to protect my little brother from life itself, Yami. Do you know how brutal it is to come to the end of all things, and find out that almost everything you once held so dear just doesn't matter any more? Do you see the irony in being one of the richest people in the world, and yet for all my resources and power, I can't buy myself another chance to get rid of any of this fu----- regret? "

Seto sighed, irritably, as he crossed his arms, and gave Yami a scathing look with an arched brow, considering his next words.  
"And do you know what the really ironic thing is, Yami? It's not the dying part that is scaring the piss out of me, or the continual surrender, or the powerlessness. It's not the uncertainty, or what happens afterward. I know where I'm going,and I'm, thank God, secure in that, at least. My faith, however odd, makes this little trip to the other side bearable. Do you know what haunts me? It's the fact that I'm only now becoming aware of how many mistakes I've made along the way, and how little chance I have in making them right. It's looking back on my years and wondering if I've squandered them. And, most of all, it's the very sad fact that I'm just now learning how to...just live. Why in the hell am I figuring this out now! "

The profound, empty silence of the room was made even more uncomfortable by Yami's habit of staring down anybody who asked him a question he simply could not answer. With a faltering glance downward, and a visible effort to unclench his knotted eyebrows, Yami slid down to be on eye level with Seto.  
Yami could only imagine the ongoing humilation of being several inches over six feet and still have to look up to see somebody who barely reached the 5 foot mark. It would have been amusing at one point. Hell, a lot of things would have been funny, not too long ago, before everything fractured and all the things that held the world up seemed to just crumble around them.

Carefully, Yami shook his head, feeling oddly sick from all the turmoil that was roiling in his gut that he feared might emerge in tears. How could any answer be right in a situation where everything was so wrong?

With a troubled glance at Yami's bowed head, Seto frowned, not with irritation, but with concern. Yami looked as if he had been struck. With a sudden, involuntary wince, Seto realized just what sort of burden he had just flung at Yami, and thought that it would not be too far from the truth.

Yami finally raised his head, and Seto blanched at the storms that were searing in their violet depths, the tormenting fear, and the futile, helplessness that threatened to overflow in betraying waterworks that would just embarrass the hell out of both of them.

"Seto, I don't know!" Yami's harsh, hurled words were emphasized by the fingers that Yami flexed into fists, only to raise in a negating arch, and allowing them to fall limp at his sides. "Why are you dying at such a young age, leaving behind a brother who loves you more than the world? Why are you suffering like this?  
Why are you finally allowing people to see you as you really are, and form...these attachments, only to be snatched away in such a short time? "

There was no sound but Yami's heaving breath, as he turned away, pale and shaking with the effort to regain some semblance of control, his spine bent and arms once again shielded over his chest, waiting for Seto's arsenal of sarcasm to cut once again. Had he openly admitted to the possibility that he would miss Seto?

"I do have a question, Yami. A question that has been most perplexing for a long time, and one that only you can answer." Seto's voice had gone from seeking rhetoric to chilled detatchment. Yami cringed at the change, and grit his teeth. If Seto was so cruel as to pervert his concern into a reason to wound, he would make sure to repay the 'kindness' with quite a lashing of his own.

"Well, then? What is it?" Yami whispered over his shoulder.

"Why do you give such a damn about what happens to me?" The question was soft, and uncertain, completely curious, and laced with none of Seto's typical rancor. Yami's eyes bulged in naked shock that he did not bother to disguise, before it yielded to crumbling guilt, as Yami shakily sat back down, working his hands into complicated little knots in his lap.

"Why do you find it so hard to accept the fact that I give a damn?" Yami's eyes were brittle and his hands stilled in patient waiting, as he met Seto's sharp eyes with an equally piercing, seeking stare of his own.

Seto smirked, but somehow managed to maintain his alien curiosity, and none of his sarcasm.  
"Because you have nothing to gain from it. Maybe you were waiting around for my grand kick off in the hopes of some monetary compensation, but no greedy bastard in it for that alone would ever be able to endure this much. Guilt and pity might be motivation for somebody like Yugi, but you're too damn proud for that. It's beneath you. So, why the humanitarian streak?"

Yami allowed himself a smirk that matched Seto's before he shook his head, with a soft chuckle. "Why not, Seto? Have you honestly done anything worthy of being forced to face this alone? Do you not see that by now?"

Seto just shook his head, sadly. "Being alone in a situation, and deserving to be alone in a situation are not always mutally exclusive, Yami. I've never been all that good at accepting ...kindness at its face value. There were several times in the past where...kindness was never freely offered, and a good deed accepted only meant I was obligated to repay it in full and then some."

Yami turned sharply, bit his lip at the hint of hell Seto had lived through to put that broken sadness in his eyes, or to be so young and have those eyes that were so full of ice in the first place.

"The fact that your brother does not view the world through such a harsh lense says much about your ability to be humanitarian, Seto. The fact that you took a multi-billion dollar company that made machines of war that destroyed lives and turned it into the leading gaming company of the world is evidence of the true state of your heart. On a more personal note, the fact that you were gracious enough to forgive Yugi and absolve him of his guilt so he doesn't have to carry that burden any more makes it glaringly apparent. Those are not the actions of a monster, a bastard, or somebody without a heart. Exactly what broke you so much that you can't accept that?"

Seto's eyes were far away and narrowing into cold slits as he ground out, and turned away, muttering darkly at the memories, "If only you knew, Yami."

Next Chapter: More Gozaburo damage, Seto angst, and thought-provoking conversation between Yami and Seto..hopefully. 


	30. Ice

"Did you ever pause to watch ice melt, Yami?" Seto's voice was soft, and his eyes distant. Yami raised a questioning eyebrow,

wary of the odd question, and mentally piecing together what in the hell Seto was talking about now. Seto peered at him,now,

a sad, amused smirk playing across his lips before dissolving into its characteristic sneer.

"Or did you even have ice in ancient Egypt? It's all desert, anyway, right?" Yami's huff of annoyance and irritated toss of his

head was emphasized with his own returning sneer, volleying back with all Seto's own venom.

"Believe it or not, Seto, I did know what ice was, then, though it was not a common sight in the desert. But, you suprise me.

Why on earth would such a preoccupied CEO running such a monolithic company trouble himself to watch ice melt?"

"You wanted an explanation as to why I'm such an asshole, right? Granted, you are a bit more tactful about your inquiry,

but it's balantly obvious that I'm either an emotionless bastard, or an emotional cripple to become this way, correct?"

Seto shrugged indifferently, with a weary, resigned slump of his back. Yami was struck by how tired he looked, but bit back

his concern, before venturing uncertainly into the guarded territory of Seto's deteroriating health.

"Are you sure this is necessary, Seto? You look slightly fatigued,and if you're tired-" 

Seto waved a dismissing hand in negation,gave Yami an annoyed look, and hissed in irritation, " I don't need another limp-wristed nurse-maid 

pissing themselves because I happen to miss bedtime. Believe it or not, Yami, I'm a big boy, and sleeping-or not- won't change the fact

that I'm going to be dead in a few months."

Yami flinched at the blunt words so casually spoken, and Seto groaned out an apologetic wince at his paling face.

"No, no, Seto...it's your demise, your dying, and you shouldn't have to lessen it for my benefit."

Seto tilted his head to the side, one corner of his mouth curling up in contemplation as he sighed again.

"True, but I don't need to be so brutal about that fact that it makes other people cringe like they've been hit, do I?"

Yami merely chuckled. "I am not so sure, Seto. I find this new sensitivity of other people's emotions almost more alarming than

your usual disregard for all. But what does any of this have to do with melting ice, anyway?"

"Don't be obtuse, Yami. It's not the ice itself, it's the metaphor behind the damn thing. You see...ice either does one of two things.

It melts when heat is applied to it, or it fractures under a blow because it's too brittle to do anything else. It only retains its ability to

break when it's reinforced by the application of cold. Got it?" Seto's eyes were warily narrowed as he gauged Yami's reaction uncomfortably.

He regretted the words as soon as they flew from his lips, either because they were so outlandishly out of character for him to be so revealing, or

because he had just reduced his own years of pain to a basic physics problem. Seto grimaced, and waited.

Yami's mouth quirked into a slight grin, as he shook his head. "Is ice truly the best metaphor for this? I prefer scars, myself, because they do 

one of two things. They either heal, or fester, depending on if you leave them alone to rot, or deal with them in a way that lends recovery."

Seto's cold sarcasm was glacial as his eyes, when he whispered in harsh comprehension, " Or they just grow deeper when other people pick the scabs

off and watch them bleed, Yami."

Yami stiffened as he drew back at the dark foreboring that was radiating from Seto. Uncomfortably, he wondered what

sort of hell Seto had known to put that much pain in his eyes, or set his teeth clamping down that hard against his lip til it almost broke the skin.

"I am hardly one to tell you how to deal with the past, Seto, since my own is so fractured. But, I give my word I won't pick at the raw flesh if you feel 

the need to divulge or explain exactly why you are the bastard you believe yourself to be."

Seto's eyes were suspciously bright with moisture for one long, tormenting moment, before he blinked them down, choked it all down with one hard

swallow, and a shiver, before he graced Yami with a challenging, broken grin.

"So, now you offer to be my therapist, too, Yami? Is there no limit to your charity?"

"It is nothing more than an offer to give you an opportunity to simply speak freely and work out some of the knots in the noose you keep weaving for yourself, Seto.

I'm not interested in using your private pain for any sort of manipulative scheme. You can take it or leave it as you want."

Yami's casual shrug made Seto's unease decrease slightly, as he warily peered up at Yami. "You really think I'm a head case, don't you?"

Yami snorted. "Seto, I personally don't care if you yodel along with the no-doubt many voices that are probably singing a grand opera in praise of your enormous ego in the confines of your skull. I do not think you are insane, and I am not making any judgement of your mental capabilities. I was just giving you a chance to talk.

Nothing more, or less than that."

Seto just shook his head, with a weary, but amused sigh. "I had no idea that I was that interesting, but...

Seto's twisted sense of honor aside, it was truly difficult to put into words what he had lived through. Exactly how did one reduce pain into

indifferent words? How did recounting the broken fragments of his younger years still have the power to ressurect so much pain?  
And, why, after all these years of being free from the hell of Gozaburo, did his heart still clench as if shackled? Seto shivered involuntarily, as if to squelsh the

unwelcome teeth of the gaping maul that threatened to swallow him completely again.

"Yami..." he began, his voice rather shaking and subdued, but still with its silken veneer, "You are about to experience a rare privledge.An explanation as to why

Seto Kaiba is such a cold-hearted bastard. Believe me..." he muttered darkly, "It's quite a sadistic little story. I don't know if it will alter any oppinions, and frankly, I don't give a damn now."

With smooth words, and indifferent sneers, Seto unraveled the years of pain with an almost freakish ease, from the happy childhoood he enjoyed with his parents, to the cruel day that they were taken in the accident. Yami noted that there were no tears shed, and Seto repeated his story as if he were reading from a script, though his hands trembled, when he spoke of the stunned gaping wound of losing those he loved so much.

"It was...shattering, as if all traces of the world I knew had gone in one strange, sad sweep of fate. One day, I was a happy, inocent child enjoying a peaceful afternoon with my parents and little brother, and the next day...I was called to the office and told by that weeping principle that both of my parents were dead,and 

my life, as I knew it, was gone. I am not sure what the reaction of a typical eleven year old would be to that sort of devistation, but I remember feeling frozen...

absolutely numb and cold, unable to cry, or break...or even feel. It was just too much. At the funeral, Mokuba wept enough tears for both of us. I just stood by their

coffins holding him up, and shaking so badly, I almost fainted. I fell to my knees between the two caskets, and scared Mokuba so much, he started shrieking, and couldn't stop. He thought that I had gone, too. He was just a little kid who didn't know any better. If that's not a taste of hell, I'm not really sure what is." 

With a few terse words spat out and laced with profanity, Seto lightly graced over the hated day that Gozaburo made his fateful appearance to the orphanage,

and the strange battle of wills played out over a chess game that would alter everything:

"I thought of it as nothing but sadistic manipulation, brought forth by an old man who had finally met his match, and was unwilling to admit to that fact.

What sort of monster barters a child's life over a chess game? And to twist a simple game into deciding my little brother's salvation from the dump of an orphanage..

I had no choice then. It was either play the game or walk away from the uncertain chance that Mokuba would be adopted out of that hellish limbo. By that time,

I learned very quickly that I was self-reliant enough to decide my own fate, and stop waiting and wishing for somebody else to step in and save me. But, Mokuba...

he was still a child, and so confused as to why mother and father weren't coming back, or why we had to leave the only home he ever knew..."

Seto's face twisted at the memory of his brother's tears, and he clenched a fist helplessly in his lap. Even now, he was haunted. "I tried, damn it. I tried so hard to 

protect him, to spare him some of the pain in their deaths, keep alive some of that stupid childish hope that I no longer had...but I was just a child myself, Yami, and 

barely able to deal with my own grief. And, even after all these years passing by, as outlandish as it sounds...I still feel just as raw and lost on that day they died.

I don't think you ever outgrow the pain of having your security and safety severed at so young an age. If there is some grand secret to getting over losing both parents as a child and being abandoned by most of your remaining family, I sure as hell haven't discovered it yet. I don't think there is one. That line about time healing all wounds is absolute horsesh--." Seto ground out, harsh and soft, as he shook his head slowly, before continuing.

"So, there I was, the renowned boy genius orphan, suddenly winning a chance at a new life by playing a damn game. It wasn't by my prayers, or parading around in front of all the prospective foster parents that came through, or being on my best behavior. It was just a simple movement across a chess board that decided my fate. And believe me, what a bitter fate it was. I remember that Gozaburo was staring down at me with this cold look on his face, assessing me, calculating, as he

reached down and grabbed my chin, and forced my face upward to look into his eyes. I don't think I recall ever seeing eyes so cold...except for my own. It made

me nearly sick with fear, and I knew then, that I had made one huge, horrific mistake in challenging the man. I should have been elated with joy, but the only emotion I had as I walked back to that small, gleaming room for the last time to pack my and Mokuba's things was absolutely nothing but numb indifference.

Whatever reservations I had were outweighed by the fact that we were at least leaving the orphanage behind, and had a chance at possibly something better. That sad little belief was just one of my sad mistakes.

Life at Gozaburo's...was hell. Mokuba and I were fed on a regular basis, and we were given the finest clothes, but it wasn't because of our best interest. Hell, no.

Gozaburo thought it was shameful for either one of us to look less than impeccible at any moment. Mistakes were preventable lapses of character that were to 

erradicated at any cost. I was told repeatedly that mistakes were unforgiveable and to make one would result in the severest punishment. So, overnight, I found myself forced to give up my childhood, and adapt to rigorous, unrelenting standards of perfection. I was forced to study until I passed out. I was left with a black eye

once for using the improper silverware when eating soup. Do you ever find yourself wondering why the heck I always sit like I have a stick up my ass, Yami?"

Yami shook his head, stunned. Seto's brittle chuckle was eerie as he snorted, "Yet another wonderful lesson from my beloved stepfather. As a child, I always had the habbit of slumping over when I sat...probably because it meant I was relaxed enough to allow it in those days. If there was one character flaw Gozaburo hated, it was my slouch. And he was _so_ very creative in dealing with it. He decided that a beating just didn't provide enough motivation, so he stood me in a corner after keeping up up for one of those monsterous study sessions, and threatened to hit Mokuba for each time I slouched. It didn't just involve standing, either. Hell, no, that wasn't good enough for him. I had to stand rigidly with my heels to the wall, on my tiptoes, with my back in perfect alignment. I stood there for nearly six hours with the tears streaming down my face, and so afraid I was going to piss myself...Thankfully, I didn't, but still...I would hate to see what sort of disapline Gozaburo would

have had for incontinence...It was impossible. I was under so much strain that I was a quivering, sweating wreck, and I nearly burst into tears when Gozaburo laid a hand on me. I remember one time that I was so terrorized of another 'session' that when Gozaburo grabbed me unexpectedly, I burst into hysterics and vomited on his shoes."

Seto's bitter chuckle interrupted the horrible tale as Yami stood gaping at the admission of so much cruelty.

"Now,_that_ was truly a session to remember.Gozaburo gave me a very nice kick to the ribs that sent me sprawling, then proceeded to make me mop the vomit off of his shoes with my own shirt that I had to wear afterwards. Needless to say, vomit on a sweater leaves a very nasty mess. But, the most humiliating part was the fact that he called Mokuba into the room. That bastard proceeded to berate me as a 'puking brat' who would 'never amount to anything,' while he emphasized every

statement with a swat of the cane across my back! It was nothing but sadistic, vicious cruelty...and I couldn't stop the blows. All I could do was cry and beg."

"But Mokuba made me proud. He only grunted and glared at Gozaburo. There were no dramatic shrieks or tears from _him._ I remember him screaming, and

giving Gozaburo a good, sound kick to the shin, telling him not to 'hurt his big brother any more.' It was an act of bravery that broke me more than the beatings ever could, it hurt that much to watch. I remember seeing Gozaburo's eyes narrow, and his dark scowl, before he sneered and completely dismissed Mokuba's threat as a foolhardy child's fantasy. Thank God that he didn't hit him any more...I couldn't have endured watching that again. As I lay there, bleeding and aching too much to move, Gozaburo siddled up to my side, knelt down, and put one of his cold palms to my shoulder, and just hissed into my ear that I was his. His son, his salvation, his mistake..." 

Seto shivered, and bowed his head, curling inward in instictive, futile self-protection at the agony of the old wounds. His scars throbbed in sorrow, and he could still hear that hidious voice next to his ear. "I _hated_ that more than anything. His absolute ease in touching me like I was nothing more than a piece of property to do with what ever the hell he wanted. I remember that everytime I was beaten into submission, or just smacked around for the hell of it, he's always lean over me with that smug little smirk on his face and lay his hand on my shoulder in these condensending little pats like I was some dog. Do you have any idea how twisted it is for a child to be beaten with the same hands that wipe away the tears afterwards? To come to fear every accidental touch, or poke, or even an embrace because of all the manipulations and the pain that follows? To this day, I can't _stand_ being touched. I don't know if it's just too invasive for my shattered nerves, or if I'm just cherishing my issues too much. But, Mokuba is the only one I allow near me, for a good reason. Is it any wonder why I'm such a bastard, Yami?"


	31. A Perverse Deliverance Part 1

A/N: I apologize for how short this chapter is. Due to a formatting error, the rest somehow got lost in my computer, and I will be posting the rest of it over the weekend. I hope it's not too awful.

_A Perverse Deliverance_

_The bittersweet rancor_

_Swelled up in poison song_

_As the darkness swung like a perverse dancer_

_Embracing me as a friend that_

_I've known life-long_

_It was the word's parting kiss_

_Of perverted motives_

_Twisting all that was bright and fair_

_A remnant of my innocence-_

_The last burning votive-_

_Brought forth the shattering beyond_

_Repair-_

_And so, we stared with eyes narrowed_

_In bitter silence, as fire upon ice_

_My eyes the dagger-_

_His the arrow_

_One death a mercy_

_Two, hell Twice!_

"It truly is the ultiment paradox, Yami. As nasty as my stepfather was, he did more to make me what I had to become to protect Mokuba. He forced me to be strong, molded me into a heartless machine. The times I would have wasted with useless questioning and whimpering cries were used for a more productive aim than just feeling sorry for myself. I restored KaibaCorp, I protected Mokuba, and became a billionaire as a teenager when most of my peers were pissing their lives away mindlessly

watching televsion." Seto shrugged with a wry shake of his head.

"Be that as it may, Seto...it cost you. It cost you dearly, and I-" Yami's tirade was interrupted by Seto's cold glare.

"It cost me everything. Make no mistake about that, Yami. There's no way in hell that anybody can lose their family, spend years being at a sadist's mercy and not come away from that with ...a few issues. Even the untouchable Seto Kaiba can't escape all situations. I'm telling you this, and I'm dying. Do you need any more proof of that uncomfortable truth?"

Seto sat back, in smug waiting for something besides Yami's floundering silence.

"I thought not." He muttered softly after there was no answer from Yami but a resigned and amused shake of his head.

"Now, if you think that is awe-inspiring in its sheer perversion, allow me to elaborate more on my glorious step-father's swan-dive from KaibaCorp's top floor. Apparently, suicide is a family tradition that I almost carried on. But, in my case, it would have been a waste. In Gozaburo's case...it was nothing less than deliverance from heaven when he so graciously rid the world of his worthless hide."

Seto's laugh was short, broken and resembled a choke. Yami blanched at the chill that had settled in his eyes. It was truly disturbing to hear Seto speak so casually about his own step-father flinging himself to his own death.

As if reading Yami's revulsion, Seto sniffed in dismissal, and continued, "I don't believe it to be merely poetic license or my own...somewhat tainted view of him that allows me to say that I have absolutely no remorse or guilt in his death. To actually leap off your own sky-scraper...were I charitable, I would label that an act of madness. To this day, I still don't know if so much depravity could be written off as some sort of mental defect, but that's just too damn pathetic and disrespectful for those who can't be held responsible for their own crap. I didn't buy it then, or now.

I can't, not after everything that's happened. I guess his damn legacy lives on."

Yami's eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the sorrow that laced Seto's eyes, briefly before it was strangled back down by the usual veneer of scorn.

"But...you attempted suicide yourself, Seto." Yami gulped the water down to lubricate the next words, "Was that an act of madness, or desperation?"

Seto's eyes widened in pain at the blunt question, before they narrowed to a bare, concealing glare.

"If it were anybody besides you or Mokuba having the nerve to bring up that tired old subject, I wouldn't trouble myself with answering." Despite the cold indifference he seemed to radiate, Seto's voice was strangely soft and sad.

"At the time, it seemed perfectly rational. The most logical choice in an increasingly unbearable situation that left me with no choice at all. Before all of this, I thought...I honestly thought that anybody even contemplating such an act was just as twisted and screwed as Gozaburo. People who in charge, in control...who are _strong-"_

Seto spat the last word before continuing, "don't do that sort of thing. It was cowardly. A year ago, I would have sneered at the mere thought that I would actually make an attempt. But, now, I realize, it's an impulse and a choice that I have to make every day. And it's a path that I pray that I never, never force Mokuba to ever have to set foot on again."


	32. Sins of the father

Author's note: To spare the dear and tolerant readers confusion, the italics are a flashback from Seto's childhood. Here is the rest of the chapter, as reconstructed as best as I could salvage it. I am sorry if it sucks. I tried, really, I did! ANGST WARNING!! By the way, I didn't elaborate into how exactly Seto took over KaibaCorps because I have no idea how anybody would do that anyway. Forgive me. If anybody really longs for me to get into that, I'll research it and try to cobble together something.

"I never knew that your step-father committed suicide, Seto..I'm...so sorry." Yami's uncertain words faltered off into horrified silence, as Seto twitched his shoulders in irritated negation. Lifting his cold, hard eyes to Yami, he shook his head.

"I'm not." The two words were dark with rancor, and Yami fought to keep his jaw from flying to the floor.

"It was because of his cruelty that I learned that hell truly exists, because it's the only suitable place for monsters like him. What sort of sadist takes an eleven year old orphan...and makes him into _this?!"_ Seto jabbed a thumb into his sternum, and Yami recoiled.

"I..don't know." Yami's awkward, obligated stammering only brought forth another one of Seto's brittle smirks as he huffed in smug, perverted amusement.

"Hnn. Be grateful for that."

_It was the hungry, consuming silence, and the patient, agonizing waiting that permiated everything in the dark room. Gozaburo was elegantly sipping another sip of the fine wine, dark eyes glittering with icy malice as he surveyed his eldest stepson, warily. It was with a deceptively casual ease that_

_he lifted the delicate goblet to his lips and smirked behind its rim as he saw Seto's burning eyes_

_meeting his own. It was not a smile of pleasure._

_Time had definitely changed the circumstances, and finally graced Seto with a bit of favor. Gozaburo noted with no small amount of displeasure that his step-son had scorned the shackles of his stepfather, with complete disregard. All the fear, and the pain had somehow broken their holds on Seto, melting away like ice. In their place, Seto was left with a hardened indifference that placed him far beyond any viciousness that Gozaburo could hurl at him. It was with another gulp of wine that Gozaburo suddenly realized, with genuine fear...that Seto was now free, and he had lost._

_The skinny, soft-spoken waif with those haunted eyes had vanished to be replaced by this...dragon._

_Gozaburo grimaced at the truth. Seto had shot up several inches over six feet, into a towering height that gave him even more the ability to sneer at his step-father. His skinny limbs had changed to the sleekly muscled glide that gave him feline grace, even when sitting..._

_Gozaburo choked down another swallow of wine when Seto's scorning eyes fell on him._

_His eyes were the azure hue of the storm-lashed ocean. The brittle years under Gozaburo stripped his face of its babyish roundness, and gave him those angular, hard cheekbones and almost delicate chin._

_Seto was a dragon coming back to devour, poisoned inocence turned to harsh instinct and the promise of retribution. He was Seto Kaiba, and he was going to free himself from Gozaburo once and for all, tonight._

_"In all the years that I've raised you, molded you, and shaped you, you have never once called me father, boy. I think it high time that you show a bit of regard for all I've done." Gozaburo watched warily as Seto's head snapped up, lips curling into scorn._

_"Father?! Father!!" Seto almost spluttered the words in anger. He closed his eyes, drew in a cleansing breath, and chuckled quietly, shaking his head, and folding his arms._

_"If you are trying to goad me into falsifying some sort of paternalistic gratitude, save yourself some breath. My father died years ago, and I won't dishonor his memory in such a demeaning way."_

_Seto's words were soft and sad. "You're not worthy of that, and you never were."_

_The fire rose to Gozaburo's already dark eyes, and made them go from glittering to flat obsidion, as he drummed fingers against the desk, studying Seto with that loathed disregard yet again._

_"You may have suffered under my hand, boy, but I made you strong, I gave you resolve, and I took you to heights that you never would have reached if I had coddled you with pathetic fairytales of a happily ever after."_

_It was the bitter, breaking chuckle and the almost hysterical shaking of Seto's frame as he snickered out, "I never expected you to own up to any of the evil you've committed against me, but_

_to twist it into some sort of bullsh-- you performed for my benefit? Let me enlighten you, Gozaburo...on just what you've done 'for' me." Seto spat, as his hands clawed at the pearled buttons of his sleeve. With a snarl, he ripped the material away, thrust forth the scarred forearm under his step-father's face._

_"You left your mark, I'll give you that much. I won't be able to look at these scars without seeing you, and wishing I had the damn guts to cut them out of my flesh, because they remind me of you._

_You corrupted me. You broke everything inside me, twisted my heart until it fractured. You forced me into a darkness I'll never be free from and poisoned every good thing I had until there's nothing left of me to salvage. I became you, damn it! I became...you." _

_The last words were whispered in awed horror, as Seto's gaze lowered to stare at his scars in numb indifference for a long, tormenting second. Seto shuddered, and forced the rage to pump away the sorrow. He was done with the tears, for once. His eyes flickered back to Gozaburo, the twisted sneer ressurected, as he indifferently slid the sleeve back into place._

_"But, there is a bright side to all of this, you know. You taught me how to slay monsters. You forced me to become so damn hard inside that I can do things that I never would have even contemplated, and in a perverse way, I found freedom to do what I had to do. That's a gift, even if it's one that I wish to God I never had to receive. It is a gift, however, that I relish in giving back to you." _

_Seto's almost mad glee had abruptly melted into smug, menacing satisfaction, as Gozaburo's wine glass trembled in his hands, before he set it down with an inelegant thud._

_"What the hell do you mean by that, boy?" The question was growled, as Seto abruptly flung the pristine paper onto the desk between them. Gozaburo's eyes quickly glided over the paper, as Seto_

_sat back with crossed arms and infinite patience._

_Gozaburo's eyes narrowed in awed disbelief, before shooting upward in stunned shock at Seto._

_"Apparently I haven't taught you well enough if you think you can pull some juvenile prank and go unpunished for it. Do you really expect me to believe that all of KaibaCorp's assets are now in your name?!" Gozaburo rose, hands curling into fists, and his body already slanting into the usual posture when he was going to beat Seto._

_A wave of cold fear, and then fury broke forth in Seto's stomache, and he thought he was going to vomit from the sudden roaring in his ears, to the dull thunder of his pulse. He fought down the wince with a negating shake of his head. He didn't care if it killed him. It was better to die than live through any more of this._

_"You taught me well. It's only fitting that the cruelty that you forced upon me leads to your own downfall. Do you know how satisfying it is to know that I snatched your own company from you using your own techniques? How does it feel to lose everyhing, anyway? Is it breaking you inside, or is it just leaving you cold?"_

_Seto only smirked wider as Gozaburo's eyes bulged in hideous confirmation. Somehow, Seto had indeed snatched KaibaCorps out from under him, stripped him of all assets, and left him completely penniless._

_One of Gozaburo's fists curled instinctively, helplessly into a fist, and he saw the flinch of familiar pain dart across Seto's face before it was masterfully buried by the cold veneer once again._

_Heartened by that minute show of weakness, Gozaburo only shook his head. "Maybe if I can't knock some sense into that thick skull of yours, I'll just have to beat it into your sibling, huh, boy?"_

_Gozaburo only had time to hear the sudden hiss of breath, as Seto shot upward to his full height, and suddenly slammed Gozaburo into the wall. The back of his head hit the solid oak, and he saw stars, as he felt Seto's cold, slim, fingers latch onto his collar, and haul him to his feet._

_"You ever threaten Mokuba again, and I'll kill you." The words were quietly spat as Seto hiked him into the air and forced him to peer into his eyes. From the absolute rage that shimmered in his eyes, to the silent menacing promise, Gozaburo had no doubt Seto would do so._

_With a distainful grunt, Seto released his hold, abruptly dropping Gozaburo into an undigified heap onto the floor. _

_"If you hate me so much, why don't you just kill me, then, boy?" It was a mad question, answered only by Seto's eyebrows quirking in disgust._

_"Because it would rob me of the delight in knowing that I took everything away from you."_

_Gozaburo sneered as he propped himself up on elbows. "Perhaps I thumped you too hard on the skull, because you're mad beyond belief."_

_It was the sudden piercing of sirens wailing in the dark that drew Seto's attention. Without bothering himself to glance back at Gozaburo, he only cocked his head, and smirked again, almost whispering, _

_" I didn't just take away KaibaCorps, old man. I alerted the police to a few of your more shady business deals...money laundering, embezzlement...any one of which, carries a severe enough penalty to ensure that you never see the light of day again. As I said, you taught me well. I hope you experience a taste of the hell you put me and Mokuba through. And I'll be laughing at the thought of you being imprisoned just as much as I am now."_


	33. Catharsis

Seto sat back, oddly at ease with the sudden, terse silence in the room as Yami only shook his head, and summerized his own turmoiled reaction.  
"He did put you through hell. I...I am sorry."

Seto shrugged, wearily, with no satisfaction, said dully, "It's over and done with, and has been for years now. I'm not divulging an abusive childhood because I want sympathy, or cleansing. I am just trying to make you understand that I am the way I am for a reason. Do you get that?"

Yami solemnly nodded, his eyes sliding up to Seto's with a wry twisting of his mouth and a gentle snort. "Seto. I never judged you as harshly as you judge yourself.  
I allow you the liberty to be you without having to justify it. But, after hearing everything you've suffered, and knowing the much darker paths you could have chosen.  
my respect for you has grown, considerably."

Seto's scowl reemerged unexpectedly at the compliment, before it yielded to resigned sadness.

"We'll see how saintly you think I am when I tell you the last bit of the story. There's a bit more to it, unfortunately..."

"Once again, you've proven yourself to be a fool, Seto. Anybody who cherishes such self-important delusions is too weak and sick to exist in this world successfully." The words were spat as Gozaburo gave a passing, scathing glance over his shoulder to the spinning blue lights below the balcony. The cruel smirk graced his lips again, as he turned his gaze to Seto once more.

Seto was heaving under the strain of the storms that were roiling in his guts, his eyes wary and narrowed as he folded arms across his stomache and simply strode away, waiting.

"Since this will be our last conversation, enlighten me. You're the one going down in flames. Who's the foolish one?" Seto's voice was so indifferent that Gozaburo swallowed hard. It was the one thing he feared, losing control of the one person he looked to in hope of perverse salvation. And Seto had, for all purposes, destroyed him far more than any mercy a simple death would grant. It was the most vicious transaction of all...seeing for himself Seto turning away from his own destiny, in complete rejection of everything Gozaburo built. Gozaburo gulped down the bile burning its way through his throat. It was then he knew that Seto was lost to him forever.

"Quite simple, boy. For all the bleating you do about how I forced you down the path you're on, all the supposed torture I put you through...you never did understand the one thing that could have saved you, Seto."

Seto was silent, but the tears rising to his eyes spoke so much more than any words or sneer ever could.

"And what could have possibly saved me from you?! After everything, do you expect me to consider any more of your poison to be nothing but another attempt to break me?" His voice and frame were tremoring, from the wound so deep and sudden that not even Seto could hide the reverberation that was thundering through his very core. "I knew I never mattered to you. You never gave a damn about me. It was always what you could force me to do, and what ever perversion of the future you worshipped for so long, even if it cost me everything." The horrible truth seemed to grow teeth, and Seto wanted to wail at the sharp awareness that was viciously clawing at his heart.

Gozaburo said nothing, as he idly studied his hands with odd interest before distainfully drumming his fingers against the mahogony desk, shaking his head in disgust at Seto's pain.  
"It was your choice, boy. Did I ever tolerate any belief in fate being anything less than the outcome of carefully planned choices? Are you so sure that you're so incensed against me because I brought out your strength, or because I've finally shown you how weak you've been all along? Understand this, Seto. I MADE you.  
I formed you, molded you, not society, not God, nothing besides me and my own strength. And since it's my own strength that's propped you up for so long, I relish the thought of you crumbling now. Crumbling into nothing and never able to do more than be haunted by my face like the weak, pathetic wretch you are."

Seto had turned pale, the hatred making him quake violently, as he only hissed out in final dismissal, "Go...to ...hell." By then, the roaring in his ears was coming down on him like an ocean, and Seto only wished he could drown to escape. It would have been more merciful.

"It's only a taste of what I've condemned you to,Seto." The eulogy was so soft in its confirmation, and Seto blanched at the triumphant sneer that graced Gozaburo's parting remarks. Seto recoiled when he felt the hated hand ghosting over his twitching shoulder, but he stood unflinching and too stricken to resist when Gozaburo gripped his chin, tilted it towards him, fiercely. "You're just like me, boy."

Gozaburo forced Seto to gaze into his eyes, and Seto felt nearly sick at the hatred that glittered in their dark depths. With a cry, he pried his face away from the hated hands, and turned away before he did crumble completely.

Seto heard no more than the irritated sigh, the sudden bolt of shining leather shoes over the floor, and then, the sudden thud of the powerful leap of Gozaburo as he flung himself out the window from their soaring balcony. Seto turned in shock to see the final moments, and ferverently wished with all his soul that he had not.  
It was the crashing, cleansing shattering of the glass. Shards of glass and something so much deeper fell over him in a crystalized shower, cutting his hands as he flung them up to shield his eyes from the horrific drama that he could no longer stop.  
Gozaburo's face lingered so briefly in the air between them, as he plummetted off the balcony. Seto shuddered at the memory of that secretive,knowing smile, so eerily prophetic that Gozaburo wore as he was swallowed by the darkness forever. Seto was haunted as much by the shadows and the ghosts as he was by the pain and the memories. His heart thundered in the loud emptiness, and he startled when he heard the dull thud from several stories below. Numbly, Seto forced himself over to the balcony, staring with disinterest at the cascade of broken glass, the empty dark of the sky soaring over his head, and then...he looked down. From the dizzying heights, Seto could see Gozaboro's aftermath, marring pavement and plants with broken bones and a scarlet stain neatly framing the shattered body. The police were already circling the scene, one officer staring in awe at the sky while the rest were milling around. There was no doubt then, that Gozaburo was truly, finally gone.

Seto shivered with an overwhelmed whimper, clapped a hand over his mouth, and promptly vomited in the pristine trash can. Absolutely stricken, he clutched his stomache and waited for the world to stop its maddening tilt. His shaking hands ventured up to his temples, and he sank to his knees. He wanted to curl up and wail like a dying animal, and for a mad moment, pondered throwing himself down into the dark just to escape this horrific tension. When he heard the soft, hesitant footsteps, and the even softer whisper of his name, Seto cringed in instinctive aversion for Mokuba.

Mokuba. He was standing in the searing light, his dark eyes wide and inocent,as they drank in the mess of the room, the shards of glass, the huge shattered hole in the window...and Seto hunched over and looking so worn and ...old.

"Mokuba?" Seto choked out the name in disbelief when he saw the small boy venturing over to the window's edge to look down.

With a shrill cry, Seto snatched his younger sibling away from the balcony's edge, pivoting him away from the death scene below him in one mad attempt to keep Mokuba from seeing the splayed blood and shattered limbs.

"Don't look, Mokuba, please, please, don't look..he's gone, you don't need to see, you don't need to suffer..." It was desperate pleading on the verge of absolute mental collapse, and Mokuba stared up at Seto with questioning alarm, before he buried his small face against Seto's frame and embraced his older sibling.  
Seto felt Mokuba's steadying hands gently draw him away, as he was forced to peer down into the pale face and the beseeching dark eyes.

"Big brother? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" The timid, inocent question twisted Seto's heart in bewildered grief as he only plunged his face deeper into the dark hair and drew into a tighter embrace. Mokuba gently shoved him away, and Seto nearly broke completely when he felt the small fingers dabbing timidly at his cheek bone, and hold up the shimmering drop in wonder. With another troubled glance at the balcony, Mokuba hastily shook his head. "I won't look, Seto, I promise!"

Small hands laced with absolute trust against his own large, slender ones, as Seto only choked back a sob at the faith his younger sibling still had.  
"Seto? What happened? Where's Gozaburo?" Seto shoved his younger sibling back, gently, hesitantly, as he swallowed down everything as he always had to shield Mokuba, and valiently attempted a rational explanation.

"Gozaburo is gone, and he won't be troubling us any more, Mokuba. You don't have to be afraid. Everything is alright." Mokuba's dark eyes narrowed. Even at that young age, he could read Seto too well to be lied to. Seto's face crumbled as his overtaxed nerves frayed even more. Mokuba stared at him, afraid. Seto had never, ever lied to him before. It was something he had come to expect from his step-father but from the lips of his own big brother?! Thankfully, he never voiced it. From the doubt that flickered across his face, to the way he kept glancing at the balcony, Seto saw that Mokuba was well aware of the fact that he was being lied to. Seto slid to his knees. "I'm sorry, Mokuba...God, I'm so sorry!" Mokuba watched in disbelief as Seto finally started the silent, hitching weeping as he suddenly gripped Mokuba as if he were a drowning man finding solid ground in the churning water. Mokuba felt Seto's tears sliding in silent misery down his own cheeks as he tucked Mokuba's face under his chin and embraced him to the point of hurting. But Mokuba endured it without saying a word, too bewildered to do anything but allow Seto to be comforted. It was all he could do, and it was all that Seto could tolerate at the time. 


	34. Bonds

I don't know how long Mokuba was forced to hold me up in his arms. I was so..tramatized by the whole thing at that point that I was tempted to just take that flying leap for myself, and I was shaken so badly that I couldn't even talk for hours afterwards." Seto whispered, his eyes slammed shut and wounded, as he shuddered in remembered revulsion. He nearly shrieked when Yami's warm hand fell on his shoulder, rounded on him with the fury of a caged tiger as he spun the chair around to snarl out,

"What the hell did I just tell you about hating being touched?! Why did you do that?"

Yami gulped to see that Seto had gone absolutely alabaster and was one step away from gracing Yami with a well-deserved fist to the jaw. He stared up at Yami, shoulders silently jolting with his panting breath, and eyes filling with emotions Yami could not place.

Yami timidly backed away, flinging hands wide in retreating apology. "I am sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

Seto stared at him for a long, silent moment, as he regained control and then sighed, wearily. "Do you see now how screwed in the head I am...still? I was nearly ready to rip your arm off for that. Mokuba is the only one that I trust enough to allow near me. To say that I have issues is quite an understatement of the obvious would you not say?"

Yami shook his head, wryly. "I am an undead pharoah that is barely five feet tall, with hair that resembles a mutilated version of a tie-dyed pine apple. Do you really wish to converse with me about issues, Seto?"

The absolute absurity of Yami's statement was only met with Seto's stunned silence and widening eyes, before he snorted. "I suppose when you combine that with the whole Puzzle and destiny crap you're always spouting, you would have issues of your own."

"And you are hardly screwed in the head, Seto. Your parents died when you were a child, and you had your fate decided by a monster and a chess game. Your formative years were ruined by the man who was supposed to protect and love you, and then you saw him commit suicide after enduring years of abuse and manipulation. And now, you're dying. I think with a fate as cruel as that, you are allowed to be a bit...off, if you were. You are hardly insane, or a monster. You're a survivor who has been through hell and back to protect his little brother, and managed to salvage a very nice life for him. That is much more than most people would trouble themselves with. So, please accept this with every bit of hope that I am telling you this.."

Yami's eyes narrowed, as he turned to face Seto. "I say this in the vague hope that you can draw some comfort from this, if you'll only accept it. I don't know how many people have ever troubled themselves to really see you as you are, and not just the cold, detatched indifference you try to shield yourself with. Seto, you are a good person. You would have become much more a monster than Gozaburo could have ever dreamed if you were not. You walked away from that, Seto. I just wish your goodness was rewarded by more than you just being haunted by the actions of a man that was so vicious to you. You deserve some peace, if nothing else."

Seto shrugged, indifferently, looking so worn and...old, as he only shook his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Yami, though you misunderstand me. I've moved beyond being another victim to something that happened so long ago. I refuse to let him win by keeping me imprisoned by the past. That's a waste of my time. But, to ignore the effects of the whole quagmire is an even bigger one. Aside from Mokuba, you are the only one who I've told about what happened that night. It doesn't need to be mentioned outside of this room, and it certainly doesn't need to go beyond you."

Seto glared up at him in stern warning. "I am taking a gamble in trusting you, Yami. I don't believe you would intentionally betray my trust, but understand right now, if you attempt anything that will harm Mokuba, I have absolutely no qualms about crushing you like an insect."

To Seto's amazement, Yami's scowl darkened from confusion to genuine anger, and he looked quite menacing as he pressed palms to his hips and strode until he was inches from his face. "And you had best understand right now, that I would sooner carve out my own flesh than add any more burden to you. I am not exactly sure how we evolved from such angry enemies to friends bound by such horrific circumstances,

but...I am here, just I have been since the beginning. I don't regret that, Seto. I only regret that it took something so brutal to bring us to this point."

Seto's soft answer was awkward as he glanced away, muttering, "I regret that,too." The silence was extremely uncomfortable between them, when they realized the mutual vulnerabilty they had just confessed. It was murky, uneasy territory rarely ventured into, barred by fierce pride, and enforced by experience that years could just not erase.

Seto abruptly shrugged with the snide remark, "Maybe I should call Tea for one of her friendship rants to complete this happy little moment."

Yami's retort was equally sarcastic. "If you truly go down that path, you might as well bring that basket of flowers with you. Maybe we can converse with dancing rabbits and sing with the bluebirds while we're at it."

Seto turned to Yami, in shock, complete with his jaw dropping at Yami's satisfied smirk. And, for the first time in such a long, long time, they both burst into elegantly restrained snickers, rather than howls of laughter.

Mokuba, unseen by the both of them, stood at the doorway, carefully listening to his brother for any signs of distress, and ready to come running at the mention of Gozaburo. He had been so young at the time. He only remembered Gozaburo in fragments, the harsh yelling, the slaps and most of all, the numbing tension of knowing that there was something so wrong, but being too young and powerless to comprehend what was truly happening. He remembered his older brother slumped over piles of books, as the tears leaked down in silent testimony of the strain. Seto, trembling and holding him as Gozaburo screamed at him. Seto, little more than a boy himself, facing down the demons almost nightly while his younger brother slept on in ignorance. Seto, bargining his childhood away so that Mokuba had maintained his. The rare, warm smile that only Mokuba could summon, the promises of Seto always being there for him. The contrast of ice to the world, and familiar, steadying kindness that sheltered him from everything that love possibly could.

Mokuba silently slid away from the door when he heard the laughter, not wishing to intrude on one of the few moments he had seen Seto truly at ease. Mokuba would never begrudge Seto a moment of relief from life, even if it came from somebody besides him.

Deep in contemplation, Mokuba wondered down the hallway to his room, the dark musings contrasting with the bright colors of his room. It was garishly decorated in vivid hues of his favorite tie-dye, accentuated throughout with piles of his clothes, notebooks containing his poetry, his lab top laying cock-eyed over the small trundle bed he preferred over the bloated opulance of the rest of the mansion. Seto had endlessly bitched about the slovenly habits of his younger sibling, refusing to allow the maids to contain the mess. After years of Mokuba's resistance to order over chaos... Seto finally shut the door in resignation, and just let it be. Mokuba was an adult who could make his own decisions, most of which, were intelligent. So, if his brother's only flaw was a messy room, Seto decided silence was better than the endless bickering.

Mokuba crossed arms over his stomach, after shoving aside the piles of crap on his bed to make room, then flopped down back first on the bed to stare at the ceiling in morose musing.

While not in danger of just dropping over dead, Seto's health was in a steady decline. His brother had to force himself to stay awake now, and the ever expanding list of medications, for pain, for nausea, for insomnia had spiraled outward to a virtual pharmacy that Seto downed by the hour on occasion. Mokuba had no idea that dying was so...complicated. And Seto had kept his word. There was no more coddling, denial, or attempts to distract. Seto had kept Mokuba informed on everything, all possible scenarios, each

side effect, his plans on dealing with each, what the final days would hold, and whatever else he could think of to keep his brother from living in fear. It was valient, and heart-breaking.

And over all the present pain, sat the dark future, where Mokuba would stare in disbelief at the many, many pictures of the Kaiba brothers together, and try to fathom the day when Seto wouldn't be there any more. He found that he couldn't do it. He just couldn't. Seto being in his life was as fixed and steady as the sky above his head and the ground beneath his feet. Mokuba never thought he would ever see the dreaded day when the sky was possible of falling, and the ground would just errode under his shaking shoes.

With a grimace, Mokuba rolled off his bed, and rose to his feet, pulling on his denim jacket and another hemp necklace. He couldn't stay in this room and just ...think. It would drive him crazy, and his brother didn't need any more angst right now. Sighing, he trotted down the hall, notebook tucked under his elbow to Seto's office, and quietly knocked. At hearing Seto's permission to enter, he only opened the door to poke his head in, smile politely at Yami, and tell Seto, "I'm going out for a bit. If I'm late, I'll call you, okay Seto?"

Seto's eyebrows shot downward, with a scowl of concern. "Mokuba, what's wrong?"

Mokuba answered with blunt honesty. "Hello, Yami! Seto, I need to get away for a few hours to clear my head. It's nothing major, or anything that I want to discuss right now. Please?"

Seto's scowl only deepened, troubled. "I appreciate you informing me of your plans, Mokuba, but you're a big boy, and you don't need my permission. But...thank you. Will you be wanting dinner later?"

Mokuba shook his head. "I'll probably be out later than that, Seto. You don't need to wait up for me. I'll just grab something out there. Do either one of you want me to bring you something back?"

Seto glanced at Yami, as his mouth quirked into a grin. "No, Mokuba, I think if Yami has the gumption to stay that late, the chef here can cook him something better than the greasy monstrosities you bring home. Thank you, though."

Yami looked at Seto, shook his head, wryly. "Thank you, Mokuba, for the kind offer."

"You're welcome, Yami. By the way, would Yugi and Mr. Moto happen to be in the Game Shop this afternoon? I might want to go check out the latest gaming stuff."

Seto jerked his head up, sharply, glaring at Mokuba. "Mokuba...whatever pretense you have for going over there, I told you that what happened between me and Yugi has been dealt with. There's no need to-"

"Seto." Mokuba was the only person on earth who could ever stop Seto mid-rant with just saying his name, in that perfectly condensending, reasonable tone.

"Big brother." Mokuba cooly eyed Seto as he slowly glided out the door with a whimsical grin. "Despite the grim circumstances, I really have no dark, twisted motives to stir anything up. I honestly want to look at some new game stuff, not go over there and strangle the guy in his sleep. That's all. So, Yami, is it open?"

To his shock, Yami gave Mokuba a wide grin of his masterful ability to handle Seto, even raising one thumb in salute, the other hand clapped over his mouth to stop the laughter at Seto's expression.

"Yes, Mokuba, the Game shop is open. I also know that Grandpa has recieved a new shipment that came in last night. I am sure that Yugi would be more than happy to help you select whatever you need." Yami answered, politely, his perfectly regal cadence betraying no emotion. Mokuba shook his head, muttering,

"You two are waayyy too much alike for my tastes.


	35. Brothers

Seto's eyes lingered on the gently shut door long after Mokuba's footsteps had faded, with that bittersweet smile and that warmth in his eyes that he so rarely revealed.

"You know the one thing I never learned how to do was let go, Yami. And I'm so damn scared of letting go of Mokuba. Of all the things that I hate about this situation...that is what I hate the most. How exactly do you do that? Of all the unanswered questions that I have, Yami, all the whys, and reasons, and purposes.  
the one that hurts the most is how in the world I let go of all this. How exactly do I say good-bye to my own flesh and blood, and leave him in this world beyond my reach, and beyond my protection? "

Yami twisted his lip between his teeth. He had no answer for that. He wasn't sure that there was an answer, and from that sad, accepting finality in Seto's voice, and that heart-breaking fear in his eyes...Yami was silent. There was nothing to be said that would not be false, or sounding like a flowery platitude.

"Deep down, I know that Mokuba is strong,and he'll be alright. He'll get through this because he's a Kaiba, and I've seen his strength for myself enough to know that. But...I'm still leaving him, regardless of my choice in the matter. And, I've never been one to take not being able to choose very well, Yami."

"Because you have no choice, Seto. I have no doubt that you have done all that you can to spare Mokuba of pain. I know how much you two love each other, and that won't change because you...are no longer here"  
Yami finished awkwardly, as Seto snorted in perverse amusement.

"Well, yes, Yami, the fact that I'll be dead just might have a slight impact on the issue of me being here or not. That's not exactly something most people successfully work around."

The merry chiming of the bells over the door announced his presence before he even glided into the small shop. The Game Shop was humble, but cheery and welcoming, as Solomon Moto's grin when he saw Mokuba Kaiba give the door chime an irritated glance that rivaled Seto's.

"Well, well, Mokuba Kaiba! And what brings you here, young man?" Mr. Moto beamed down at Mokuba as he groaned and climbed down from the ladder he was using to stock some of the older cards in the upper shelves. That bright smile abruptly turned to a scowl of paternal concern as Mr. Moto looked Mokuba up and down for a long moment. His frown deepened, displeased, as he shook his head and irritably groused at Mokuba, "I don't know how you Kaibas find the energy to run that big company. You look tired, my boy. Sit down." Solomon waved Mokuba over to one of the barstools that sat unoccupied by the counter.

Mokuba gave him a tolerant smile, as he slid himself downward,grimacing as he folded his legs awkwardly and rested his boot heels on the rungs. When he had navigated the tortured teenage years, he had shot upward at least two feet, and then several inches until he was well over the six foot mark. He was almost as tall as Seto, though he lacked that feline grace and cold poise. But, he still had those dark, sparkling eyes, that easy laugh, and that carefree forgiveness and light that Seto cherished. Brushing his black bangs from hsi face, Mokuba nodded politely. "Thank you, Mr. Moto."

The old man regarded Mokuba kindly, and ambled over for a chat. "You are quite welcome, Mokuba. How are you Kaibas keeping yourselves these days? Is Seto alright?"

Mokuba wearily bent his head, and sighed. "We're definitely keeping ourselves busy, Mr. Moto. Seto...could be better, of course, but for now, he's holding up. I guess that's about as good as could be expected."

Solomon gave Mokuba's hand a warm pat, with a sad, understanding nod. "Please pass on my best wishes to Seto. And, as you know, if we can help you, you only need ask."

"Thank you...I'll be sure to tell Seto. He'll appreciate that." Mokuba muttered, abscently. "I don't suppose Yugi is around, Mr. Moto?"

"Yugi is up in his room upstairs, along with young Joseph Wheeler. I'm sure they would be most happy to visit with you." Solomon said, pointedly, as he waved Mokuba through the door with a gentle shove, and another smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Moto." Mokuba called behind him, as he slid off the barstool, and made his way to Yugi's room.

The Moto house was as cheery as the game shop. The decor was simple, mainly well-worn furniture, scattered photographs of various family members, strange Egyptian treasures that Solomon had picked up from his travels, and a cabinet full of Yugi and Yami's awards from various duels over the years. Yami, stern, and strong as a mountain, smirking proudly at the camera, as Yugi was protectively cradled at his side. Solomon, Yam, and Yugi beaming from the ancient ruins of an excavation site. So many smiles and happy years reduced to photos. Mokuba couldn't help but feel a bittersweet pang of empathy.

Hesitantly, he lingered outside the doorway that was emblazoned with a poster left over from a dueling tournament, hand raised to knock. He heard Joey Wheeler's snicker of laughter, followed by Yugi's bright giggle. Why had he come here, anyway? Just as he was about ready to turn on his heel and go back home, the door abruptly flew open, and he collided with the body that was flying out. Mokuba was almost knocked on his rear as he staggered backwards and caught himself. He felt himself being hauled upright by strong hands and set back on his feet.

(Author's Note: I personally like Joey Wheeler and his odd Brooklyn accent, which is made even odder by the fact that he is in Japan. But, I'm not going to make any attempt to write it out, because it comes out looking like gibberish. So, in this fanfiction, he speaks with as much twang as you like, but written down, it is standard English. My apologies.)

"Mokuba?" Yugi's uncertain question floated up from behind the doorway as Joey stared at him, confused, and arms still outstretched.

"Sorry about that. I didn't see you there, Mokuba." Joey gave him an easy grin as he stepped away. "Say..you alright? How's things with ol' Moneybags, anway?"

Mokuba gave Joey a look of chilled rage as he jerked his chin up sharply. "Seto!" He hissed through clenched teeth. "His name is Seto, Joey. Not Moneybags, or anything else but that! Got it?!"

Joey raised placating hands as he backpedaled, apologizing, "Sorry, Mokuba. Old habits just die hard and all. How's he doing, anyway?"

Mokuba huffed his bangs away, in the attempt to calm himself. "Fine. Seto is fine." He choked out, as he fought the urge to slug Wheeler. No wonder his brother despised him. Yugi watched the exchange, wide-eyed, and silent from the door frame. Warily, he gave Joey another grin, and said, "Joey, why don't you go downstairs and bring up some soda and snacks? I know that it's been an hour since you've eaten last."

Joey brushed the golden bangs out of his face, and shook his head. "I know a brush-off when I get one, Yugi. If you and Mokuba need to discuss something privately, I'll leave. No problem."

"I wasn't suggesting that you leave, Joey. I was suggesting that you get some food. Since when have you ever turned that down?" Yugi stared up at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk of his own. Grumbling, Joey waved an irritated hand, and brushed past Mokuba to go downstairs. He hollered over his shoulder from the downstairs, "I'll be bringing up extra for me!"

Yugi only snorted, before he turned back to Mokuba, troubled. "I'm sorry, Mokuba. I wasn't trying to ignore you. Um...is everything alright?"

Mokuba only sighed, awkwardly, cursing inwardly for the stupidity of coming over in the first place and then for lacking Seto's ability to handle any situation with nothing more than distancing sarcasm.

"Yeah, Yugi, everything is fine. I'm sorry for bothering you." Mokuba shrugged in finality, and spun on his heel to leave, only to feel Yugi's small hand squeezing his elbow to stop his retreat.

"You don't have to leave yet, Mokuba. And you're not bothering me. If you're worried about Joey,he already said that he would leave if-"

"Does he know about Seto? How bad he really is?" The sharp question took Yugi completely by suprise as he fumbled, uneasily.

"Mokuba, I don't know how to say this, but it's pretty much common knowledge that Seto has cancer and he's dying from it. I haven't said anything about it, though, and neither has Yami."

Mokuba only nodded, silently breathing, and trying to uncoil the sudden anger that had wound around his tongue. Of course, it would be out in the public. Seto had long given up any attempt to hide his illness, prefering to cope with it in his own way, and even allowing his appearance to give a visible face to the private suffering of millions. Mokuba knew that KaibaCorps had already pumped a sizable amount of money into various hospices around Japan. But, he still felt like Seto was being violated in some way.

"I know Yami hasn't, and I didn't think that you would, either. It's just...Seto is so private, and I hate the fact that his most private battle is out there in public for everybody to see. I mean, it's his life, and his limited time, and not many people seem to respect that."

"I didn't, either." Yugi's whisper was laced with regret as he raised sorrowful eyes to Mokuba, almost weeping.

"But you apologized, and Seto forgave you, Yugi. I don't mean to be rude, but that really is old news,and I don't want to start an argument with you now." Mokuba said, wearily.

"Of course not. I'm sorry." Yugi muttered, uneasily. "I don't mean to be rude, Mokuba...but why are you here, really? Is there something that I can help you with?"

Mokuba opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the sudden appearance of Joey, his arms and mouth full of potatoe chips, and three cans of soda still in the plastic ring.

"Wasn't sure what you wanted, so I didn't open the cans." Joey's words were muffled by the potatoe chips he had stuffed into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. Joey stepped between them, and deposited the bowl of chips and cans on Yugi's desk, and flopped down on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head.

Yugi only shook his head, as he took two cans off the desk and silently handed one to Mokuba, with a gesture towards the floor as he sat down cross-legged on the dark red rug. He popped his can open and sipped it, his eyes never leaving Mokuba. The silence was rapidly decaying into unbearable tension, and Mokuba's nerves were threatening to storm over into something ugly. Mokuba he opened his own can and drank a long, considering swallow.

With a shrug, he sat down across from Yugi. "I just...I needed to get away from the whole thing for a while. I love Seto, but sometimes...it's just too much, and I need a break to forget, or just..escape before I go insane. And, I came over to clear the air between us. So, I guess I brought over all my issues. Sorry."

Joey rose from his dozing slouch on the bed to peer at Mokuba, worriedly. "Not to interrupt here, but there's no point in apologizing for having issues." He offered Mokuba the chip bowl. "Hope I'm not prying." Joey muttered as an afterthought.

"You're not." Mokuba answered as he nibbled on a chip. "Thank you, Joey." Mokuba was now faced with the uneasy notion that Seto's hatred might be a bit misplaced. Aside from that horrible accent and rather gruff manners, there was little that Mokuba could see that Joey had earned any of it.

"Joey's right, Mokuba. If you want to talk, I'll listen." Yugi offered.

"And if you want me to leave, I will." Joey mouthed around another handful of food and a sip of soda.

"No, Joey. That won't be necessary. I'm the one who barged in. But, since I'm here, I might as well enjoy the chips and soda. Thank you." With a sigh, he sat.

"Seto and Yami were still talking when I left, Yugi. I think I may ask Seto to put him on KaibaCorp's payroll as a therapist. Yami's really been a big help to Seto. Could you please make sure that he knows that?"

Joey's eyebrows furrowed. "Since when have Yami and Kaiba become such buddies, Yugi? You mean to tell me that those two are actually friends?"

Yugi nodded, slowly. "I know it's a bit...strange, Joey, but Yami and Seto have always understood each other. That's probably why they're so evenly matched in dueling, or how one can't beat the other one in an argument. It's about time they did something besides hate each other, don't you think?"

Mokuba snorted. "Seto never hated Yami, Yugi. He just couldn't stand being reminded that he lost to him. Seto has never been very good at accepting loss. That just makes all this harder on him."

"I'm glad that Yami at least can talk to Seto, too. He needs that. I know that Yami comes across as being cold, and distant, but it's his way of protecting himself from the world."

"You just described Seto, Yugi. No wonder those two are such good buddies now. Nobody else could put up with that sort ego but those two." Yugi and Mokuba both snorted at the same time, and then shared a good laugh of understanding. Mokuba felt better than he remembered in a long time. That broke the icy tension, and the reserved fear that Mokuba had in coming over to the Moto's. Yugi was as warm and accepting as usual, and Joey had completely dismantled Mokuba's foolish and preconceived notion that he was an idiot.

The conversation flowed much easier, puncuated by refills of soda, munching on chips, laughter, and the hours crawled by, as the sun went down. Mokuba felt the buzz of the cell phone at his hip, and saw Seto's number blaze across the small screen. With an apologetic hand held up, he cupped the phone to his ear, and had a hasty, and irrate conversation with Seto. With a grumbling promise to call him back, he slid the phone back into his pocket. "I'm sorry, but I need to go. Seto needs some help with something."

Rising, he gave Yugi and Joey his full gratitude. "I appreciate this. The chance to forget and be normal for a bit. Thank you, both. Maybe we can do it again sometime?"

His timid request was met with enthusiasm from Yugi and that easy grin from Joey. Relunctantly, Mokuba said his good-byes, and made his way down the stairs, flanked by Joey, who was on his way home as well.  
They chatted amicalbly enough, until Mokuba mentioned how much he would miss Seto. To his suprise, Joey whirled to face him, his golden brown eyes full of compassion. Joey hesitated for a moment, then said,

"Hey. I can only speak from the perspective of an older brother. But, if Seto loves you anything like I love my little sis, then he's going through hell right now. 'S been my experience that you never get over wanting to protect the people you love, and honestly, I wouldn't want to change that, even at the cost of being hurt. There's not much you can do about that one, Mokuba. And I don't think your big brother would have it any other way. He may act like a jerk sometimes, but everybody knows what you two mean to each other.'

Joey gave Mokuba a kind smile. "It's not easy being the oldest, you know. Always worrying about the example you're setting, the stuff you leave for your sibling to contend with, the choices. But, it's worth it. It's absolutely worth it, and Seto would tell you the same thing, if you had the guts to ask him. You ain't going to make this worse by holding back the fact that you love your brother, Mokuba. If anything, I think Seto probably needs to know that he's not failing you. Knowing Ol' Moneybags, he's probably close to pissing those pretty slacks over you right now." With that sarcastic barb and a friendly swat to his shoulder, Joey grinned, and turned down the corner, whistling. 


	36. Sickness

It was the sound of gagging that set off Mokuba's panicked instincts into breaking into a full-fledged run. Lingering at the doorway, he heard the strangled grunt of pain, Yami's soft question, and Seto's irritated reply. He shoved the door open, and gaped to see Seto's pale, clenched face twisted as he hunched over, and waved Yami's hovering away with a gesture and a snarl. "I'm alright! Yami, stop it! I appreciate the concern, but damn! It's vomiting, not a gaping bullet wound. Just because I'm dying doesn't mean that I'm exempt from suffering from some food poisoning, or even a bout of the flu!"

Yami only shook his head, and frowned, worriedly. "Be that as it may, Seto, I will not be leaving you alone when you're chilled and vomiting. At least let me call Mokuba."

Seto stared up at Yami with his eyebrow arching in scorn. "And what good would that do, Yami? Mokuba practically pisses his pants every time I breathe too loudly. Exactly well how do you expect him to cope with this? And, I hardly find it alluring to force my younger brother to watch me vomit. He has enough to contend with on my behalf, as it is." He muttered darkly.

Yami crossed his arms, and his concerned frown only melded to a scowl. "I'm not leaving you alone, Seto. And it has nothing to do with your competence, or my wanting to intrude. It is the simple fact that you are ill, and notoriously stupid when it comes to admitting that fact."

Mokuba heard Seto's sigh of defeat. "Fine. Call Mokuba, if you feel that compelled. Just make sure you keep the drama to a minimum. I don't need him getting any more worked up on my behalf than necessary."

There was a long pause, then a shifting of some sort, followed by the uneasy pacing of Yami's boots against the tile. "I understand your concern about not wanting to worry Mokuba, Seto, but I thought you finally figured out that it's a worthless issue now. He loves you, and therefore, he's going to worry about you."

Seto's voice was soft,and subdued, and sadly accepting, "I know. But that doesn't make it any easier."

Mokuba couldn't stand to hear any more of that broken defeat. With a raised boot, the door flung open wide, as Mokuba strode forward, his eyes forbidding and demanding as he narrowed them at Seto. Then what will, Seto?" Mokuba asked the question quietly, as he slid his arms over his chest, and only glared silently. Seto stared up at his little brother looking as if he had been shot and hadn't quite made it to falling down, yet. Seto's mouth opened and closed a few times, as Yami smirked despite himself.

"Yami." Mokuba turned to him with a polite nod. "Thank you for staying with Seto, and for the attempt to make him see the need to take care of himself. I hope that I don't seem rude, but I think that we have some issues to discuss that might be a bit...volital."

Yami gave Mokuba an understanding nod. "I will be leaving now. You may want to know that this strange illness has only come upon him a few hours ago. We thought that if he emptied his stomach, that would take care of it, but I was wrong. I am sorry. Please feel free to call if you need any more assistance."

Yami lingered briefly to stare at Seto levely, but Seto looked up to see the clear worry in his violet eyes as he whispered, "I hope you feel better soon, and if you don't, you don't hide it from us. I hope that I have proven that you don't need to do that anymore."

Seto stared at him for a long moment. "You have, Yami. More than I'll ever tell you." Yami did not say anything more, but the sliver of warm regard that lit his eyes made Seto look away, awkwardly. Yami said a brief good-bye to Mokuba, with a stern request to be informed of any new health issues for Seto. He left without looking back. Seto was grateful for that.

The silence that filled the room after Yami's departure was explosive even before Seto had time to think of a plausible excuse in the attempt to hide his stomach's upheaval. But to see Mokuba's withering look of hurt and concern nearly broke him again. Mokuba only sighed, and sat across from Seto with crossed arms, before asking, "Seto, were you really planning on puking your guts up alone and hoping that I would just conviently ignore this? I'm your _brother,_ damn it! If you're sick, or hurt, I want to know about it, so I can help you! Didn't you already promise me that I wouldn't have to go through these stupid mind games again to sort out the truth from the bull? Even if it's just a stomach bug, Seto, we can't take the chance of just hoping it goes away. Not now!"

Seto stared up at his brother in shame, and misery, as he clutched his stomache with another grimace. "I'm sorry, Mokuba." His mouth twisted at the taste of bile burning at the back of his throat, as his stomache continued its ominous quaking. Seto's choking whimper and the desperate hand clapping over his mouth brought Mokuba to his feet instantly.

"Seto? Are you going to-" Mokuba couldn't even complete the sentence as Seto gestured frantically towards the corner of the room.

"Trash can!" Seto yelped, as he turned a horrific shade of pale, and clapped the hand over his mouth. Mokuba hastily shoved the can under his brother's quaking jaws and blanched as Seto promptly, and painfully spewed his stomach's contents into the waiting receptical. It was hell. Seto heaved, and heaved until he sat back, panting.Seto felt Mokuba's gentling hand rubbing his spine in reassurance, as the other hand brushed bangs out of his face, and whispered soft, soothing nonsense.

Earthquakes of nausea roiled in his gut, and Seto had no time to do more than lower his head before he errupted again, and then, again, until there was nothing left for his tortured instincts to do but yield to the painful dry-heaves as his stomache continued its agonizing cramps. When it passed, Seto leaned back in his chair, gasping and sweating, his hands gripping the arm-rests in white-knuckled fists.

Seto groaned in misery as he shivered at the sudden chill. "Seto?" Mokuba uncertainly held a glass of water out, and Seto stared at it for a moment, before dismissing with a bitter shake of his head.

"I don't think I could keep it down, Mokuba." Mokuba only shook his head wryly. "Then don't. You can at least rinse away some of that horrible taste." Seto took the glass in trembling fingers, slurped down some water, and swished it over his teeth as he spat it out. "Thank you." His voice was harsh from the abuse his throat had taken, his stomache was still quivering in ominous warning, and he felt as if he had just dived headlong into an Artic pool, he was so cold.

Worriedly, Mokuba shoved a palm over Seto's forehead, ignoring the searing glare. With a glare that matched Seto's, Mokuba scowled down at his older brother, and announced with a warning finger raised. "You're burning up, Seto, and vomiting."

Seto snarled,"That is a bit odd, Mokuba, considering I feel like I have just planted my ass in a freezer. Get me a blanket, or turn on the heater, before we see if it possible to freeze one's ass off!" Mokuba only gave his brother a condensending, but understanding clap on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, Seto."

Seto glared at his back as his brother left the bathroom and returned moments later with the blanket, and a thermometer.

Seto soon found the thick, soft blanket draped over him like an embrace as Mokuba carefully tucked it around his legs with a frown of concern.

"I don't like this, Seto. A stomache bug wouldn't be causing a fever, or chills, would it?" Seto shrugged. "I'm hardly a doctor, but my guess would be no.Vomiting is usually the body's effort to expell something out that shouldn't be in there in the first place. I don't know why I'm so cold."

Mokuba silently handed him the thermometer, as Seto's nose crinkled in distaste. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a wee bit, Mokuba?"

Mokuba raised both eyebrows in a challenge as he gave Seto an evil smirk that could rival his own. "I may be over-reacting, Seto, but you can either put the thermometer in your mouth like a big boy, or I'll wrestle you into submission and take your temperature like a little boy. Your choice, big brother."

Seto's look could have peeled paint. With an exagerated sigh and a great show of sticking the thermometor under his tongue, he clenched it between his jaws, and scowled around the tip. "Are you happy?" His speech was garbled by the instrument, but Mokuba only smiled and pat him on the head. He regretted it after seeing Seto's flinch of memory. "Sorry." He murmured with a shrug.

The thermometer beeped, startling them both. Mokuba hastily snatched it away, and his eyes bulged as he saw the temperature. Silently, he held it before Seto, whose eyebrows climbed even higher. "That...is certainly not a good thing." Seto muttered quietly.

"No, it's not." Mokuba's quiet agreement hid his growing alarm. "Seto, I really think you should go to the hospital."

"And I second that notion with a resounding hell no." Seto groused irritably, as he scrubbed fingers through his sweating hair, and grimaced. 'Stop being such a damn drama king, Mokuba. Puking is hardly a reason to go to a hospital!"

"It is if you're already dying, Seto. I hate this, I do! But, given how weak you already are, again, like it or not, puking may be the least of your worries."

And so the bitter arguing went, for hours. Mokuba's worry, and Seto's dismissing scorn changing to heated to confrontation, in all the characteristic Kaiba fire and ire. Seto argued, in between the bouts of vomiting, and though he was hunched, and sick and shaking, he still put up one hell of a fight. Mokuba would have had

begrudging admiration, if he wasn't so afraid for him. It continued until Seto's voice was nothing more than a choked whisper from all the shouting and the heaving, and Mokuba was red-eyed from the fretting and the tears. An attempt to make the other see reason, against the other's wish to just be left the hell alone collided violently, then ground to a deadly stand-off. Finally, in the biting, horrific waiting, Seto stared at the trash can with its fresh liner- the third one of the long night, the weariness that gripped Mokuba, and the burning in his own throat. Seto blanched at Mokuba's misery, and shivered as he huddled deeper into the blanket that pooled about his knees. He felt sweating and unclean from the grime on his forehead. It was Mokuba's agony that finally forced his decision.

"Fine, Mokuba. Take me to the hospital. But when we find out that this is a simple case of the flu, or food poisoning, I expect you to get some medication for your severe anxiety, alright? This is getting old."

It was the same hated routine that Seto had loathed again. The dreary wait in the emergency room as the hours slowly crawled by, enduring Mokuba's irritating blathering about the most outlandish theories of why Seto was sick, and then, the general malaise of feeling like his stomach was going to explode into his throat, if only it was that merciful. Seto was hunched over and shivering in his trench coat, trying to keep down the constant sips of water, and failing. Mokuba had fought with the admitting secretary over the paperwork, ending with snarls that rivaled a rabid pitbull. Seto lingered in the plastic chair, bleerily clutching at his stomach. Mokuba watched with an empathetic wince of pain as Seto shoved his face down into the trash can and reguritated everything,and then some more.

He was now choking up searing throatfuls of bile and was in tears from the horrific taste. The pain felt like his insides were scraped raw with sandpaper, and then set on fire. It hurt. Everything hurt, from his throbbing head, to his burning fever, and his body that shook with chills...Seto only closed his eyes and groaned.

Finally, Mokuba came over with a tired smile and announced brightly that there was a room open and Seto would be seeing a doctor. Seto, by then, was too ill and exhausted to give a damn. He could only master a shrug and a sarcastic "Yay!" Wearily, he gripped Mokuba's shoulder, and leaned heavily on him, lurching along at a broken shuffle like an old man. He cursed himself for forgetting his wheel chair. A kindly CNA approached with a smile and a waiting wheel chair. Seto gratefully lowered himself into it, and almost curled up completely as Mokuba flanked him. They rolled him down the hall, under the same glaring lights, past the same rooms that he almost died in by his own hand. He winced at the memories but shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on old pain. He had enough to contend with now.


	37. Anguish

To say that Seto Kaiba was a good patient was akin to saying that water was dry. It simply did not happen.  
And, the hospital was every bit the loathed experience that Seto expected it to be. He was finally admitted to to a room, and rolled into it by Mokuba, over his loud, hacking objections. It was a storming, tormenting moment when Mokuba finally dropped any attempt to out-argue with Seto, and only turned to him with beseeching dark eyes to plead with him to be admitted just for one night to see what the problem was.  
The knife of guilt was further twisted when Mokuba threw in how worried he was for his sibling. With a resigned sigh, Seto allowed himself to be wheeled onward, with arms crossed and a stoic expression that hid the misery of his still heaving stomache. Even after puking, he still sat as regal as a king lighting his throne.

It was a tedious, snarling argument to get Seto into a hospital gown. He was already freezing, and the flimsy, loathed garment did nothing but make him feel even more exposed, and humiliated. He finally submitted because he was just too damn tired and ill to bother with it any more. At least they were merciful enough to give him a large robe. Unhappily, Seto slid into the hospital bed, yanking the covers up well over his waist, allowing his head to flop onto the pillow and regretted it as the world swam. He was interupted anyway by a young intern with a sharp needle and IV tubing. He sighed. Seto set his arm on the stand, warily eyeing the shaking hands of the nervous intern who was prepping him for an IV. When the word got out that Seto Kaiba was admitted to the hospital, she had appeared, starry-eyed and awed into silence. She handled his arm like it was a priceless jewel, carefully swathing down the inside of his arm with benatine and carefully probing for a vein.  
Seto grit his teeth at the sharp pain, and then gasped, nearly in tears as she abruptly yanked it out with an apologetic stammer. "Sorry. You have rolling veins?" He raised a peeved eyebrow, and only glared.

After two more stabbing attempts, the IV was finally taped to his arm, and the IV started flooding his veins.  
It was more of a precaution, than a necessity, but due to his weakened health, it was decided that dehydration was a very real threat, and so, he was stuck there with a needle in his arm. They examined his stomach, taken samples of the vomit, and asked so many questions he thought he would slug somebody if he were not so damn weak at the moment.

Mercifully, the doctor had finally brought him some promtheazine to calm his adominal rebellion, and he was starting to feel slightly less than miserable. Mokuba dozed in the plastic chair beside his bed, as Seto maintained his lonely vigil and waiting, as the hours slowly crawled by. He was finally visited by a harassed looking doctor who gave him the diagnosis of a severe bout of influenza, and the unwelcome news that he was going to be kept for a few days due to his declining health. Seto fought the urge to slug something as he flopped back down onto the hospital bed, bitterly. It was going to be one hell of a night, indeed.

It was the horrific infection that set off a series of events that almost killed Seto. Sometime in the hazy days that followed, his immune system, already compromised by the burden of just being so worn down, collapsed momentarily and allowed the lung infection to flower, and then invade like an army. Mokuba recieved the unexpected phone call at three in the morning that his brother had been admitted to the ICU.  
Without even waiting to replace the phone on the cradle, Mokuba had only taken time to slide on some jeans instead of his pajamas, and raise to the hospital.

The moments were laced in fire, the days bathed in ice, as Seto drifted somewhere between living and dying, but not lingering in either one long enough to stay. He vaguely remembered nightmares of Gozaburo standing over him, mocking his weakness and threatening Mokuba, the hazy image of his brother rising like a star from the confusion, the feel of his hands in his own and whispered prayers. Aching fever breaking over him in waves, voices rising and falling as if he were only an echo of the noise, Seto spent three hellish days fighting the massive infection.

Mokuba kept his agonized vigil over Seto, watching as Seto lay so still and pale underneith the tent of the ICU unit's various machines. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was harmonized by the thick rasp of the oxygen mask and Seto's unsteady respiration. Seto had gone from twisting in the delirium to a slumber ever approaching death. He was under some powerful sedation to keep him from thrashing around and pulling out one of the IVs. His vitals were still strong, his breathing uncompromised, and his frail body was yet still waging a valient fight against the raging infection. Seto was given another round of antibiotics, more blood tests. Another doctor examined the spike waves on the EKG to see if the surging fever had damaged his 'cranial function.' Mokuba nearly wept to hear that Seto's brain function was intact, and sound.

For three days, Seto lingered in that netherworld of heaven and hell, tethered by machine, and held firmly into the world of the living by medical intervention. For three days, Mokuba lingered in that unyielding vigil at his bedside, often flanked by Yami, or Yugi, as he watched his brother fight for his life, and never knowing if Seto could win.

Yami, had once again been the angel of deliverance that snatched Seto from the jaws of death. Mokuba only shook his head as his heart swelled in gratitude that Yami seemed to have the tact and understanding.  
It was understood that Yami had the right to know that Seto had been hospitalized, so Mokuba had phoned the Game shop as soon as he knew Yami would be up and co-herent. Unfortunately, it had been during Yami's visit that Seto had taken a sharp turn for the worse. Mokuba's heart ached with uneasy guilt on Yami's behalf. If Seto's suffering ever had to be talleyed by witnesses, Yami had seen more than even Mokuba.

That morning began benignly enough. Yami had arrived early, and was suprised at the quick admittance he was granted. At that point, Seto's health had held out well enough for him to remain in the regular hospital units, since his only medical intervention was the IV and several pills.

Seto and Yami had long moved passed the social obligations of politeness, and Yami was almost relieved to see Seto propped up and looking rather well, everything considered. Seto was still in the uneasy coils of sleep, and remarkably inocent looking as he lay wadded up in the blankets. Yami turned on his heel, and was about to leave Seto to sleep in peace, when he heard the sharp barking of his name.

Sighing, Yami turned back, and fought the smirk to see Seto's eyes slide shut, then shoot open wide in confused alarm. Panting, Seto stared down in horror at the mussed sheets, then glared at Yami as he pulled the hospital gown to a less revealing position. He hated that damn thing.

"How are you feeling, Seto?" Yami asked, cautiously.

Wearily, Seto opened his eyes to see Yami peering over the bed rails, his face twisted in concern, and uncertainty.  
"Like hell. Do me a favor, and call Mokuba. I want to go home."

With a troubled glance at the clock overhead, Yami opened his mouth to deliver some irritating rant, only to have Seto abruptly scowl, and snap,"Leave me be, Yami...if you have any respect for my wishes, or any intent on doing me any damn favors, just leave, if you won't help me!"

Yami only shook his head. "Do you wish for me to leave, Seto?"

Seto's hardening scowl was definitely an indication of his wishes, if the cruely raised middle finger wasn't obvious. Yami gave Seto's finger an amused glance, and silkily replied, "While I am most sincerely flattered, I don't think it would be a good time. You truly are an ass, Seto."

Yami expected a sarcastic answer, or at least another verbal barb. Anything but that yelp of pain, and that pale sweat that suddenly turned Seto's face into burning white contorted suffering.

Yami shot to his feet in an instant, and was already halfway out the door, when he heard Seto's choking of his name.

"No."

Yami sprinted back over to his bedside, almost in hysterics. "Seto, I am getting some help for you! What the hell-"

"No! I don't want it! I want to go home"  
Seto could barely force out the whisper as he trembled so hard, and his fingers latched onto the rails in ever whitening clutches of desperation and pain. Yami's eyes bulged, as he breathed Seto's name through his cemented jaws, latched together by absolute horror. "Let me at least summon help, Seto! You can't-"

"No!" The word exploded between them. "Yami, they know! They know, and they tried to drug me, and I refused it! I don't want it!!" Seto's eyes glimmered up at him in sharp, eerie focus, despite the pale face pinched. Yami opened his mouth again to argue, as Seto flung up a hand and waved it down.

"Please, Yami. Respect my choices enough to leave it be." It was a whimper softly heaved out, as Seto shut his eyes, prayed for deliverance, oblivion or even emptiness...anything besides this Dantesque choice of being drugged or suffering inspite of being drugged.

He saw Yami's eyes slide over his clenched body, knees almost bent from the agony, spine folded into submission, hands latched against the rails in the death grip. And his face, burning white, and leeched of color, his teeth grinding together, and his eyes so filled with raw suffering that they were threatening to spill over with humilating tears.

"Why do you choose this, Seto? Does it make you feel stronger to endure something so needlessly, or are you afraid of losing control?" Yami's quiet inquiry was laced with uncertain tredidation, and curiosity, but his eyes were wide, and staring, and full of fear and compassion, as he bent down to Seto's ear.

"You don't need to do this to yourself, Seto. There's no reason for it."

Seto shuddered in revulsion, in anger, as he choked out, "But there is, damn it! Do you think I am enjoying this? Does it look like this makes me happy?!"

"It looks to me like it's killing you, Seto." Glittering eyes of saphire slid open in curious regard,narrowed at the sight of violet eyes peering down with dangerous awareness.

"I will not be sedated against my will." Even now, the steel beneath the disease was driving Seto insane with his need to maintain even this ludricous measure of control. In a perverse way, the pain was something readily understood, and borne willingly. But the thought of being drugged and losing control..even over something so trivial...it made Seto's heart shudder in irrational panic.

"So you are admitting you would rather suffer willingly, and uselessly?" Yami inquired with a peeved eyebrow, to hide his breaking heart.

"If it means I'm not some drugged, drooling vegetable, then, hell yes, that is exactly what it means!"

Yami could only shake his head. "Seto, I can barely stand to see you like this. How do you think Mokuba is going to feel?"

"Mokuba...is not going to see me like this!" Seto choked on the words as if they were heavy boulders he had to heave out of his quaking throat as he writhed again. "I'm leaving. Now!" Yami's alarm melted from concern to outright fear. Seto was irritable, of course. Being ill and hospitalized rarely did much to improve the ever-moody Seto's non-sunny disposition, of course. But Seto hardly ever did anything as stupid as trying to disconnect his own IV and roll out of the hospital bed, especially when he was too weak to even walk at the moment.

Yami's fears were confirmed when Seto promptly flopped off the bed, and landed in a tangle of sheets and mussed hospital gown. Yami flinched at the sharp grunt of pain, and hastily draped the sheets over his shoulder. Seto met that considerate gesture with an icy glare, and a huff of irritated annoyance. "That is hardly necessary, Yami! I'm alright!" This was said as Seto tried, and failed, yet again to stand upright. With heart-breaking clarity, Yami soon realized that poor Seto was anything but alright at the moment.  
Warily, he stepped forward, wondering if he would do more good to summon help, or if he could possibly talk some good sense into Seto before the situation esculated even more out of control.

Yami's eyes bulged as Seto stared down at the needle that was still miracliously fixed in his vein, with distain.  
Without any hesitation, he yanked it out, tearing flesh and leaking ugly scarlet droplets on his white sheets and gown. The IV regulator, still on its silver pole, began to sound its beeping alarm that the tubing had become dislodged. Seto stared at the tubing stupidly for a long moment, then chuckled.  
"I am so glad that damn thing is gone."

Yami shivered, inwardly, but only sat on the floor beside Seto, serenely. "Seto," Yami began rationally, his voice free of tremor, "Do you think it wise to be tearing out medical equipment that is designed to help you recover from this illness so you can leave? Seto...please, don't be an idiot. Get back on that bed before you do some damage that can't be repaired."

Seto only smirked coldly, and waved away his words in vicious dismissal. "It's always about you, isn't it, Yami? Do you honestly think that I'm such an invalid that I'm unable to cope with my life without your not so divine intervention? Tell you what, Yami. I'll make it worth your while, alright? When I go home, I'll cut you a check from KaibaCorp's own slush fund for being such a screwy therapist wanna-be. How's that? It's what you've been after all this time, right?"

The hurt that twisted across Yami's face was gone even before Seto could notice. Yami fought the urge to belt him across the jaw, and only narrowed his eyes, in angered consideration. "Clearly, you are out of your mind at the moment, so I'm going to forget that you said that, Seto. Right now, you are ill and hardly in any position to argue with me about the value of your time."

Seto snorted, and languidly blinked as he hooked one arm across the bed railing in the attempt to haul himself upright. He made it a few inches off the floor, only to fall backwards with a hard clang as his elbow struck the bars. Trembling, Seto only hissed out, "And what exactly about my health has changed to allow such charity, Yami? Regardless of this infection being related to my terminal illness, I'm remaining rather sick either way, and I'm not just talking about the head, either."

"It also doesn't change the fact that you are acting like an idiot at the moment, Seto. Get back in the bed!"

Seto only shook his head, and scowled.

"Seto." Yami raised a soothing hand, blanched at the heat that radiated from Kaiba's flesh as he hastily withdrew the touch. "Seto? You're ill. Don't you think it would be smarter to recover and then attempt to have somebody's head on a platter?."

"No, Yami, it's not! They're trying to hurt me! They won't leave me alone!" Yami backed away when he heard the high-pitched hysteria rising in Seto's voice, and nearly shoved Seto back onto the gurney himself when Seto struggled to rise.

"I'm not staying here one more f--ing minute, Yami. Be the friend you claim to be and call my driver."

Yami sighed, torn. This situation was rapidly decaying, and he wasn't sure how much more he could handle.  
With a curt nod to his head, Yami did the most intelligent thing he could under the circumstances. He lied, and sensibly pushed the call button.

Within moments, the room was fairly swarmed over by the medical personel, complete with the charge nurse who marched over to Seto's side like a military general going into battle. With a disgusted glance, she waved over to the three CNAs, and jabbed a finger at the bed. "Please get him off the floor. I'm going to reattach the damn IV and then give him something that will facilitate some much needed rest and cooperation."

Yami recoiled at the clinical indifference. "Mayme..." he whispered, quietly, in an attempt to restore some compassion in a situation that could break Seto even more. The charge nurse whirled to meet him, as a CNA handed her a fresh IV line still in the wrapping. "Is that necessary?"

The charge nurse sighed, but Yami was suprised to see the kind understanding. "Unfortunately, sir, it is. He can't keep pulling out the IVs, and he needs the rest. I think it will be easier on him...if he's...sedated for a bit. "

Yami nodded, miserably. Seto, mercifully, was still unaware of how much the situation had spiralled out of control and only sneered when he was lifted and gently deposited back in bed. He thrashed like a drowning man, however, when the nurse appeared with the new needle and tubing. It took all three of them to restrain him. Yami could only crouch by his hear, pleading for Seto to stop hurting himself. He couldn't bring himself to actually hold him down. Seto recoiled as if he had been stabbed when the needle was slid back in, and again, taped in place.

"What...what the hell are you doing to me?!" He barked out in terror, his eyes huge and tearing up as he was gently held back down on the bed.

"Seto." Yami's voice was so calmly serene as reappeared. "They are helping you. Seto, you...you are not quite yourself, and to get back to you, you need to sleep. Please, just...stop." Yami's voice was betrayingly high and shrill with the fear that Seto might be dying before his eyes. Yami wasn't sure how much more he could take of this cruel limbo.

"NO!" Seto started panting and thrashing when he stared up, with heart-breaking clarity at the IV pole.

"Don't do this." He whispered, nearly choking on the rising sobs. "Take it out! Please, take it out! I don't want it!!" Seto wailed like a dying animal as his eyes filled with hurt and shock as they flickered with betrayed understanding from the gleaming needle to Yami's misery and guilt.

The CNAS sadly lowered him into a reclining position, as Seto's eyes burned in their accusing hurt into his own. Yami wanted to weep at Seto's betrayed tears that seared his heart so deep, before Seto's eyes went cold, and he turned his head away in a dismissing gesture of defiance.

With his last breath, Seto hurled out the one word that Yami had struggled with so much since this whole thing had begun.

"Why?!" It was garbled from the sedative, and harsh from being forced out from the drool that was collecting at the corners of his mouth. The nurse gently nudged Yami out of the way, as she carefully tucked the blanket around Seto, and then examined the IV.

Seto's eyes finally slid shut as he succumbed to the oblivion of drugged slumber.


	38. Vigil

It was the sickening irony that Yami could not understand, as he shifted in the plastic chair, and maintained his lonely vigil over Seto. Yami was still haunted by that desperate question that Seto had hurled at him with one last breath before the sedative dragged him downward to where awareness, and hopefully, pain, did not reach.

Yami could not come up with an answer. He wasn't sure that there was any answer that would possibly justify what was happening, here and now, in the cold room, to his friend wrapped in the white sheets. A quiet injustice, a black mark against what he thought was right and wrong with the universe. About the only mercies that made any of it bearable was the fact that Mokuba wasn't forced to witness Seto's delirium, and Seto was completely unaware of it.

They had done a hasty assessment of Seto right after the sedative, checking his vitals, probing, prodding, and Yami only grew more alarmed with the stern, grim bark of the charge nurse as she ordered him moved to ICU. They had swept Seto away, in a tide of tubing, machines, and lights. Carted him off as if he were a precious gift to be delivered straight to Heaven, it was so swift.

And Yami was left staring at the silent flapping metal doors, watching them trodding down the long hall with Seto's gurney growing small and disappearing down a corridor. Yami himself, was gently escorted back to the waiting room by a kindly nurse's aide, and he sat, numbly, staring blankly at the walls, the clock, the shiny tile beneath his boots. He had achieved a level of torpor somewhere outside of reality. He did little during those three days, but return home for a brief sleep, eat a brief breakfast, and then, return to the hospital. It was bleeding reality melting into freezing time. It was Seto's last days being drawn out with uncertain hope. It was knowing his friend was in a bed fighting for his life, and there was nothing that Yami could do but watch, wait, pray,...and when he was alone, weep.

As hellish as it was for Yami, he knew it was only an echo, and a shadow compared to Mokuba's suffering.  
It was comparing a tear to an ocean. Mr. Moto had offered Mokuba the chance to stay at the small Moto household, since it was a few blocks from Domino City Hospital, and Mokuba couldn't stand the vast darkness of the Kaiba Mansion without the anchoring presence of Seto. He couldn't bear the emptiness of the plush rooms, the stark reminders of his brother's dwindling days. He felt that if he lingered there, he would join the ghosts and the memories and the haunted voices that whispered. Gozaburo, and his own childhood, and over everything, Seto's suffering and dying that bled and tainted every inch of Mokuba's rapidly shattering life.

So, Mokuba and Yami had become quiet allies in their shared misery, as odd as it was. When Mokuba showed up at their doorstep with a suitcase and tears in his eyes, there was nobody there to greet him, but Yami. For that, Mokuba was grateful. For all his mistakes, and misfiring communication with Seto, Yami was the only one who understood his brother well enough to gain his trust. And, Mokuba respected him immensely for that. Yami opened the door, eyes widening at Mokuba's haggard appearance. His normally sparkling eyes were crushed obsidion, his long hair hung down unbraided, and the shadows in his eyes were testimony to how poorly he slept. Yami only sighed, gave Mokuba a sad nod of understanding and stepped aside to allow entrance. Mokuba attempted to force his lips into a smile, but only wound up making a sound like a strangled sob or a grunt of pain. He did not know and it mattered little. Yami silently gathered the suitcase, as Mokuba stood uncertainly, seeking direction. Yami only offered a small smile of his own, whispered, in a voice raw with pain, "I take it that your brother is still doing the same"  
Mokuba only nodded, saying nothing. "I am sorry." Yami whispered, as he beckoned Mokuba to the spare bedroom. "He's not getting any worse." Mokuba finally offered up, rather relunctantly, as he stepped away from the bed so Yami could set the suit case down. "Seto's quite a fighter, to last this long."

"Well, Mokuba, he is a Kaiba." Yami offered, awkwardly. Mokuba pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and forced a smile, and a pathetic attempt at a laugh. It faltered miserably, as every other attempt to make any of the situation bearable. The long, uncomfortable silence ended with Mokuba's next words.

"I'm going to see him, now. Do you want to come?" The words hit Yami like a sledge hammer, and he paled at the thought of enduring any more. It was a selfish thought that he bit down on his tongue until it bled. One look at Mokuba's pleading eyes was enough to make the decision for him.

"Yes, of course." Mokuba only gave him a teary glance, as he strode away. "Yami, I know this is hard on you. And...I thank you for everything. I don't know how you put up with us, but...you've been a friend. I hope you know that."

Yami only answered with a modest shrug. There was no need to say more.

Silently, the two made their way down the corridor, Mokuba's shoulders drooping more and more as if he were bearing an impossible weight. They had signed in, and were waved permission to enter the small room. The ICU was its usual malestrom of irritating noise and lights. Yami had been horrified at the amount of machinery that Seto was hooked up to. And though he had arrogantly, and ignorantly assumed Seto was a fool for not utilizing every bit of help that modern day medicine could give him...after seeing Seto's greatest fear of dependence being tethered and played out in all its grusome truth...Yami knew, without any more doubt, that he understood why Seto wanted to die at home. Even if all this intervention bought Seto more time...it seemed a cruel violation to his independence and his proud spirit. And it was heart-breaking.

Mokuba resumed his usual position...flanking the bed and taking one of Seto's hands in his own, babbling about all his classes, and the plans that he had made. Mindless chatter that only filled the silence. An attempt at normalacy in hell. Yami tried, again, not to cry. To hear Mokuba's plea for Seto to open his eyes again...it was too much. It was all too much.

It had been three days. Yami had not been permitted more than a few minutes to visit at a time. Though he would not admit it, he was grateful for that, because it was all he could stand. Seto still lingered, so wilted, so still, and broken under the canopy of the IV poles, the harsh hiss of the respirator, and the finality of Seto's serene face. He looked at peace. There was no contorting tears, no breakdowns, no betraying flinch, or sarcastic barb. Nothing to indicate life, or awareness. Nothing but the empty breathing, the flacid arms neatly tucked outside the blue sheet. Yami had timidly brushed one finger over the back of Seto's hand, and nearly leapt into the air when Seto stirred, with a sigh. Brow furrowing, and heart hammering, Yami whispered his name. Seto responded with a twitch, and a grunt, eyes fluttering, but never opening. Mokuba paled, gasped, the radiating smile blossoming, and falling as Seto failed to respond to his pleas.  
Yami stood, tormented by wild hope, and gut-wrenching disappointment as Seto lay still once more and did not move again. After a long moment, Yami burst into a full-run down the hall for the nurse.

The charge nurse had only given Yami her disgruntled reassurances that movement was indeed a good sign, and that Seto was no longer under the sedation. Yami was given the more welcome news that Seto appeared to be recovering-as well as could be expected- and the infection had been contained. As soon as Seto had regained his strength, they would be discharging him to Mokuba.

Yami and the nurse were both startled to hear Mokuba scream his name. Gulping at all the horrible possibilities it could indicate, Yami fled down the hall.

Mokuba stood over his brother, the tears streaming down his face, one hand gripping Seto's as if it were a rope and he was drowning. Yami's eyes flew from Mokuba's disbelieving, haloed smile, to Seto's hand. It was gripping Mokuba's so hard the knuckles were white.

The charge nurse gently nudged Mokuba aside, the reassuring smile on her face plain as she bent over the bed, and said, soothingly, "Welcome back, Mr. Kaiba. You gave us quite a scare."

Disbelieving, Yami stared at Seto who could only stare up at him, numbly.

"Thank God, Seto. You're safe. You're safe!" Mokuba's crooning seemed to do little to alliviate the situation.

It was his eyes. Saphire eyes, wide and burning with overwhelmed sensation and pain, and brimming over with tears as Seto's tremor slid into full-blown quaking. Eyes that captured the disoriented terror of being swept under to the dark, and then being rebirthed into the shackles of straps and machines in a hospital bed. Mokuba heard his panicked whimper, and hastily snatched up the clenched hand, tenderly, whispering his name, hoping to provide certainty in the rising malestrom of confusion, and bleeding confusion.  
Seto clutched it helplessly, as the tears trickled down his face. 


	39. Gravity

Seto's fingers clenched to the point of pain the smaller, darker hand in his own, as he stared up, bleerily at Mokuba. Panting, he blinked. Numbly, he ghosted a timid hand over his soaked cheeks, and raised the finger tips now wet with his tears, to stare in awe. When was the last time he had wept? Tears flowed that much harder at the thought. His languid thoughts were slowly being ressurected to life, he could feel his intellect struggling to its usual sharp fire, and his sharp eyes hastily assessed his surroundings in disbelief.  
He could only manage a shrill whine of realization and hurt. Mokuba carefully threaded his arms through the web of wires to gather Seto up in a steadying embrace, whispering his name, pleading for Seto to calm down. Seto allowed him to drape his quaking hands to the small of his back, as he slumped against Mokuba in surrender, burying his face in the depths of the dark hair. "Mokuba." He choked out, uncertain that the angel that held him wasn't another by-product of his recent fever.

Mokuba said nothing for a long moment, only held Seto, wincing at how his older brother's spine seemed to be in danger of slicing through the very flesh. Mokuba wondered how holding up such slight weight felt like he was holding up the world for a horrific moment. "It's alright, Seto. I'm here, big brother. I'm here."

The soothing words were negated by the sharp breath and the stiffening of Seto's back as he shook his head against his brother's shoulder. It was even more pronounced by the abrupt way Seto gently freed himself from Mokuba's arms and planted those fists against the bed rails to keep from collapsing.

"Mokuba...it's not...I can't..." Seto groped for the words with faltering hands and words before he gave up the attempt, and then swallowed hard to work some of the dryness of his throat away.

"Seto? What is it?"

Seto suddenly gripped Mokuba's hand in his own. The other trembling hand came to Mokuba's chin, gently tilting it downward so Seto could look into his eyes. Mokuba paled at the sight of Seto's suffering in all its raw, naked agony, as he whispered, "Please...take me home. I can't...I can't end it here. Not like this. Take me home, please! I don't care if I drop dead on the way out, it can't be any worse than being here another moment."

It was his brother's tears that ended any argument that Mokuba may have made. Mutely, numbly, Mokuba only forced a smile of reassurance, gave Seto's hand a confirming squeeze, then lowered Seto back onto the bed. He pivoted sharply, lingering in the abyss of knowing his brother was dying, and that there was nothing left to do but let him go. Swallowing back the howl that threatened to erupt, he summoned every last bit of Kaiba resolve, and whispered, "I'll get you home, Seto. Let me go...make the arrangement, okay"  
He bolted before he started sobbing. He brushed past Yami, who still stood rooted at the doorway. With a tormented glance, Mokuba only flung a hand at Seto's bedside, and pleaded, "Stay with him?"

Yami nodded tersely, and nearly flinched when Mokuba only clapped a hand over his shoulder in silent gratitude. He stepped forward, biting his tongue until it bled, musing torpidly about how the three feet between him and the bed suddenly seemed like the harshest walk he had ever forced his feet to endure.  
Seto startled at his appearence, and blinked owlishly for a few moments.  
"Yami?"

Seto scowled and tilted his head at Yami, waving a hand in the air to beckon him closer. Warily, Yami slid into the chair that Mokuba had left behind, sitting so that Seto could view him without having to rise again.  
"You seem to have a knack at being there for me in my worst moments, Yami." Seto said, softly, as Yami flushed and shrugged.

"Well...it seems that you have a knack for having the most terrible things happen when I am in your company, Seto. Do you feel as bad as I am assuming you do?"

Seto snorted in amusement, as his characteristic smirk re-emerged. "I'm glad there's no dancing around bullsh-- with you, Yami. I feel like hell, look worse, but it's still a most refreshing change from being bed-ridden with a catheter, and sedated. You weren't there when that was inserted, were you?" Seto asked, worriedly, as Yami gawked for a moment, then flushed red with indignation.

"I may have seen you feverish, vomiting, drugged into submission, and even humiliated, Seto, but I promise you, hell will thaw twice before I ever debase myself in that sort of sordid viewing, I promise you." Yami groused, embarassed.

Seto only chuckled darkly. "I think I'll want to be drugged into submission when that's removed."

"I don't think it will be quite the ordeal that your stomache pumping was, Seto." Seto narrowed his eyes into an icy glare, before letting the words pass without comment.  
"How much did Mokuba see of my not so sane rantings? Did he have to watch me be sedated?"

The overwhelming relief on Seto's face was only made more heart-breaking by the tears that rose again, as Yami slowly shook his head.

"I...am sorry if I betrayed you, Seto. I honestly did not know what to do when you were so delirious."

"You should have saved yourself the guilt and just beaten me unconscious for being an ass, Yami. You did what you had to. Does Mokuba know about that sordid little turn of my insanity"  
Seto had to force himself ask the question, and Yami felt his unvoiced sympathy at Seto's horror of Mokuba seeing his brother in such a state.

"Mokuba knows nothing of it, Seto. He did not see any of it, and I saw no need to mention it unless you want to tell him yourself."

Seto only stared at Yami for a long moment, with some unidentifiable thoughts brewing that made his teeth chew into his lips, almost uncharacteristically nervous. He looked down and took an extreme interest in his clenched hands. "I'm no good at this sentimental crap, and never have been, so forgive me if I seem crass,or ungrateful...but, I owe you my thanks." He muttered with a sigh and a shrug.

Yami gave him an equally awkward shrug, and looked away to hide the warmth in his eyes that would embarrass them both further. "You owe me nothing, Seto. But, I am glad that I have helped make some of this a bit more bearable."

"You have." Seto said, so softly that Yami was uncertain if he had heard him at all.

Yami was mercifully spared from further comment when he saw Seto's cheeks redden as he looked away.  
Yami could offer sympathy, he was as ill at ease over exposing his true thoughts as Seto. They were interrupted by Mokuba's dramatic arrival into the room. His face was flushed with anger, his dark eyes blazing and his fists balled under each arm helplessly as he spluttered out, "They refuse to discharge you, Seto! The head physician said that you're too sick, and unable to make your own decisions! "

Seto snarled, as he hoisted himself upright, the old fire giving him much needed strength. Angrily jamming the call button, he waited impatiently for the summoned CNA to arrive. Her obvious fear and hesitation only irritated him more, as he barked out the cold and polite order to be seated in the wheel chair. He was gently arranged with his robe neatly in place, his hair smoothed down, and his eyes regaining all their characteristic icy chill as he thanked the aid and sent her out of the room pocketing a rather large sum of money. He was already trembling from exhaustion, as it was an ordeal in itself to hook the IV to its rolling pole, tuck the catheter bag beneith his chair and then transfer the oxygen to the smaller, portable tank. He crinkled his nose around the invasive prongs and winced when he tried to tug them free. They were affixed well, and he dropped the attempt to hamper with them, fearing that he might need the extra air after all.  
Actually, considering the verbal volley he was already preparing, he should just leave well enough alone.  
With a grunt, Seto heaved his wheel chair forward, smirking after Mokuba with the sarcastic, "Go pop some pop corn, gentlemen. It may take a while to bring this so-called quack to viewing my side."

Seto never got over his loathing of feeling so weak and vulnerable, as he shivered self-consciously under the thick robe's folds. Thank God that it at least concealed him, though he could only imagine how much respect he could command in a bathrobe, a hospital gown and an IV to boot. It mattered preciously little now. The idea of confronting anybody for his own freedom would have been ludacris a year ago. And now...Seto mentally fleshed out his arguments as he continued to roll his chair down the glaring hallway with its glaring lights and gleaming tile. It gave him a headache just to view it. Mokuba and Yami had stayed behind in the vacant room, Mokuba quietly gathering his things, and Yami lending him his solid, steadying support. Seto mused over Yami with a considering frown, and wondered if he would object to a sizable donation from KaibaCorps being donated to the Game Shop. Surely the Motos were well-off, but if anything happened to Mr. Moto...Seto shivered at the thought. He already knew first hand how it fractured the world to have those you trusted taken from you. And he also understood all too well the insulation and security that a good deal of money could provide.

Scowling, he rolled himself up to the posh oak door, and narrowed his eyes at the gold plaque that announced the hospital administrator's name and title. With a moment of hesitation, he knocked on the door, and was quite pissed off to recieve the dismissing answer of "I'm not available right now, leave your appointment time with my secretary!"

Seto's only answer to that was his foot kicking the door open, and Seto proceeding to barge in with all his characteristic arrogance. Scornfully, Seto rolled forward, and parked the wheelchair firmly in front of the expanse of the oak desk, and only crossed his arms, with a raised eyebrow, his face perfectly serene. The administrator's eyes bulged, and Seto was repulsed and haunted by her. She was a well-dressed woman with a regal bearing, her silver hair cropped stylish and short, and her cordinated clothing complimenting her stern face admirably. But, that wasn't what threw Seto. It was those dark glittering eyes. They reminded him too much of Gozaburo.

Rising, the administrator coldly eyed Seto, with a catlike regard, as she smiled, condsendendly, "Mr. Seto Kaiba. A pleasure to meet you at last. Even in your dying, you still have a bit of charm about you. I take it that you are here to protest the hospital's refusal to discharge you?"

"It was a mistake. My mistake, and one that I won't repeat. 


	40. Unexpected Gift

Author's Note: Short, Sweet, and Sappy!

"The odds of you finding a dying man vaguely charming are as remote as me finding your unwarrented judgements to be intelligent."

His voice had gone from cooly tolerent to glacial scorn, as his lip curled and he forced himself to his full, soaring height. Unfortunately,

he had to peer up to see her, due to his weakness. His knees were quivering, and he knew that if he attempted to rise, and walk, he'd only

collapse. He was already feeling the familiar burn of nausea at the back of his throat. His scowl deepened, and he promised himself he would be

sure to aim for her desk if he actually lost it completely.

She only quirked an eyebrow in amusement at his sarcasm, and shook her head in condensending amusement. "Mr. Kaiba," she began,

raising a placating hand, "While I am sensitive to the issues at hand, I don't feel it's in your best interests to be discharged until your issues are

dealt with." She gave him a tolerent, coddling smile that made his blood burn in his veins.

"_Sensitive?!_" Seto had to cough to hide the guffaw of irony. "I would hardly consider dismissing the wishes of a terminally ill, competent adult

to be material for a Hall-mark card, mayme."

"And I would hardly consider it wise to allow said wishes to dictate a discharge when they come from a man who has not only made no attempt at

treatment, but has also a history of suicide attempts. Mr. Kaiba, you hardly make a case for your competence."

There was only silence for an answer, as Seto gripped his armrests, and fought to keep down the rage.

"I'm _dying, damn it!_ If your treatment could work miricles, then I wouldn't be in this particular situation now, would I? I refused treatment

because it would have been an exercise in futility, and I'd rather live what I have with my brother at home. I fail to see how spending my

last months with my family over the invasive treatment in a hospital is such an incompetent choice. You will find that I have both the

proper documents and the legal team backing it to ensure that my wishes are followed."

His voice had turned to glacial, controlled silk, as he exhaled a cleansing breath. He stared at her, and noted her gaping mouth.

Irritated, he sighed, and continued..

"As for my suidice attempt? Personally, I find it inconcievable that a hospital administrator would bring up such an embarrassing episode

as an excuse to force me to remain here when I have clearly stated the contrary. I find it disgusting that so many have knowledged of it, and

feel so free to discuss it with me as if it's little more than gossip picked up from the latest scandal.

It was a mistake I made in a moment of weakness and stupidity. A mistake that has already cost me more than I care to admit or elaborate

to anybody that I don't trust. I have dealt with it, and have successfully moved on from that particular episode, but I would be able to move on

completely if it wasn't brought up by people who attempt to hold me hostage emotionally by disguising their sick curiosity as concern."

She looked positively intrigued then, and Seto cringed inwardly. How had he gotten sucked into this, anyway? Oh, yes, he thought he was going

to simply be obeyed because he was Seto Kaiba. He cursed himself for letting his bloated ego foster such a situation. Warily, he

watched her. She looked every bit a ferret after a trapped rodent. _Bitch. _ Seto snarled in the safe confines of his skull.

"And your childhood?

Seto's eyes went from his narrowed glare to widening in shock. For a horrible moment, he faltered, miserably. He blanched to see that she did

not miss the mute shock, and the flare of pain that twisted his mouth at the suprise attack with such a volital subject. His childhood, or lack thereof, was

something he never discussed. With a bitter smirk, he sneered,

"And what is there to be said of my childhood, miss? Obviously I had one, as have most people. Unlike certain people in my present company, I was

raised not to probe into private issues."

Her face reddened at the insult, but only melted into smug, seeking satisfaction, as she shook her head with a chuckle.

"Mr. Kaiba, it is hardly a secret that you have lived a most extrordinary life."

Seto snorted at that at the irony. _Oh, hell, yes. How extrodinary my life has been. Both of my parents dead by the time I was eight, being ignored by my living family_

_adopted by a monster, and abused for years until he committed suicide?! I And now, I'm dying. Truly extrodinary._

His only reply was the characteristic ice. "I believe it is the stuff of legend. A boy genius, inheriting a billion dollar company and expanding its profits to be the richest

company in the world? Fascinating, I know. But, it's still rather old news, and has absolutely nothing to do with the pretensious bullshi that is keeping me here."

"No, it does not. But, understand, Mr. Kaiba, if you willfully choose to sign yourself out of this hospital, it will be strictly against medical advice, and we won't be

held responsible for any fallout."

Seto sighed with relief, fought to keep his shoulders from sagging. The illness had taken a monsterous toll on his flailing self-control, his head throbbed, and he felt

the shiver come unbidden and unwelcome. She narrowed her eyes at him, and sighed.

"Mr. Kaiba, I am not trying to make this more difficult than it already is. I just wish you would allow some treatment to make this situation more manageable. Legally, I could force the issue, and summon a competency hearing to keep you here."

Seto stiffened, as she shook her head, sadly. "But, on a more personal level, that is far too violating for my tastes. I would strongly advise you to consult our hospice team here before discharge, but again, that is your choice. There's nothing else keeping you here but a simple matter of paperwork...that I will most relunctantly waive, if you only follow through with a simple request."

"And what might that be?" Seto raised a wary eyebrow, in disbelief that signing a few papers would lead to freedom so quickly.

She smiled, almost coyly, and Seto wheeled his chair backwards in alarm as she only shook her head. Next to his considerably huge case file, she slid a small, non-descript envelope towards him.

Seto scowled in confusion as she lay it in his lap. "What is this?"

"Despite your reputation for being less than charitable, Mr. Kaiba, while you were hospitalized for your suicide attempt, you very generously paid the tab for people who needed medical care they could not afford. From what I understand, you were particularly...affected by the family of the young girl who could not afford the

needed heart operation to save her life. Because of you, that young girl lived. This is a letter of thanks from her parents. I think it might do you a bit of good to read it.

It is the least that can be done for something so...kind. You remained nameless, as you requested. But, I think you deserved the acknowledgement. I hope that it

at least brightens your considerably sour mood. Now, if you would sign here, here, and here...you may go home."

Seto stared at her, stunned, clutching the envelope. He remembered shelling out the cash, of course, but he never thought for a moment that it would actually

result in a child having more years on earth...and to think that it was his own attempt at death that brought her life...He rolled his eyes, heavenward.

_I don't get you, God. But...sometimes, I think I might be closer..._

Mutely nodding, he read the papers hastily, then left his name in his elegantly flowing script, before tucking the envelope in the folds of his robe.

"I thank you, for your time, miss. And, for future reference, please charge any more medical bills that you are aware of for that girl to my account. It wouldn't do to have my generousity wasted."

With that, he rolled away and was gone before she could even reply.

Curiously, he lingered in the hallway, lightly tearing open the envelope, and reading the neatly typed words.

_To the kind stranger who saved my daughter's life-_

_Words cannot express how much it means to know that there are truly angels out there who exist, who still work miracles and intervene in impossible circumstances. While it was your monetary gift that allowed my daughter the gift of life, it's also a death of sorts. The death of the fear of good-byes coming_

_far too soon, of empty arms where I can't hold my baby, of never seeing her married, dancing at her prom, or what sort of life she might have had. It's the_

_death of wishing, hoping and praying for nothing more than more moments. It's the death of long nights of sickness and pain, of fruitless wondering why,_

_of a world where childhood is spent in sickness in white rooms and hospitals, and not out running and playing like all children should be free to do. Most of all,_

_it's the death of fear. Fear of standing at a graveyard, and only having pictures and memories for comfort. Fear of what the future holds, and of all the time_

_we didn't have together. I know my words aren't adequet enough to express how much this means to us._

_It is my hope that it was only compassion that led you to do this, and not losing somebody you love. I ferverently hope that you never know that pain, and if you do..._

_know that I admire the choice to make something good come from it. I can embrace my beloved little one, and only imagine her not being there...and the gratitude _

_is overwhelming._

_It wasn't just a kind deed done in passing, whoever you are. It was a bright star in a moment of darkness, the precious light of a child restored and...now_

_safe in her mother's arms. It's the grace of precious years...years that we would not have together, were it not for your wonderful, wonderful kindness. I pray that the _

_Lord blesses you and keeps you, and grants you peace. And may you know, that somewhere, somehow, there's a little girl who is now going to grow up and do_

_great things because you gave her that chance._

_Thank you...whoever you are._

Seto hastily wiped away the tear before he carefully tucked the envelope into his bathrobe. It was...good to know that he maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so cold

after all.


	41. Homecoming

Yami watched with concern as Mokuba flittered around the room, throwing Seto's belongings into the large, leather satchel

There was a bizzarre frenzy to Mokuba's motions that made Yami very uneasy. Mokuba blurted out a

swear word and rammed a fist down the open satchel in an attempt to shove everything in. When the mountain of crap

didn't sink any further, Yami was shocked to see Mokuba glare just like his older brother, and slam both fists into the satchel.

Sighing heavily, and shaking, Mokuba flushed red when Yami stared at him, with his eyebrow raised in silent concern.

"What?" Mokuba asked in genuine astonishment. "Yami, is there something wrong?" The polite inquiry was only met

with Yami's trepidation, as he answered, softly, "It is not like you to abuse a suitcase in such a way, Mokuba."

Mokuba's shoulders slumped in weary understanding, and he made no attempt to dodge the observation. Sighing, he rose

to face Yami, and nodded. "You're right. Normally, I don't. Normally, I wouldn't be in this hospital, spending a weekend

wondering if my surviving family member is going to live or die. Normally, younger siblings don't have to worry about

burying their brothers, and normally, I would have years and years to say good-bye. But, there's not really much normal

about any of this, now is there?" Mokuba's voice was flat and indifferent, but Yami could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes, as

a betraying palm swept over Mokuba's forehead.

Mutely, Yami shook his head. Mokuba did not refuse the kleenex that Yami silently slid into his hands, looking away.

"Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been more merciful to have let Seto go when he tried to end it in his own way, Yami.

Sometimes I wonder if he wouldn't be relieved to have this over with, and sometimes I wonder if I would have the guts to

honor his wishes about this whole damn thing...and ...just _end it._ I want it over with. I want his suffering...over with. I want my

life to stop being this hell, and for things to be normal. I want Seto to live, I want things to be...over with. Sometimes, I just wish that

I could-"

"That you could what, Mokuba?" Seto's voice sounded like thunder in the awkward, stripped silence that fell so heavy

in the room. Yami shuddered when he saw Seto's face, alabaster, and broken, his jaw trembling, and his hands gripping the rails

of his wheelchair to the point of breaking. Yami slid his eyes to Mokuba, and saw that he had gone completely mute and stunned,

only able to gape at Seto with wide eyes, panting.

Swallowing hard, Yami hastily gripped the satchel, turned to Seto. "Do you want me to put your things in the car, Seto?"

Seto sent Yami a puzzled scowl, and noticed that Yami was there, finally. Staring down at the suitcase in his hands, Seto

waved towards the door, grimly. "Yami, you are absolutely correct in wanting to vacate the premisesis on this one. In fact-"

Yami was even more alarmed when Seto absently fished out a few pristine bills from the satchel, and shoved them into Yami's hand

"Have dinner on me, and drive my things back to the mansion. Tell my driver that we will call her when I am ready to leave. And, feel

free to have her drive you home, if you need that." Yami stared dumbly at the fist of dollar bills and then at Mokuba, and then back

at Seto. He gently lay the money on Seto's bed, and said softly, "I'll see to it that your things are returned, and I'll accept the ride home.

But, you don't need to pay me for any of that, Seto."

Seto whirled his chair so fast that Mokuba gaped at the speed as Seto rolled until he was practically touching Yami's knees. Snatching the

money up, and clinching it into a wad, he spat, "Take the damn money, and go eat, damn it! I thought you would know by now it was a gesture

of respect and gratitude, not some bribery, Yami. Do you honestly think that I would be _paying _you now?!"

Yami only raised his burning eyes to Seto, as his lip curled, and he shook his head, leaving with the satchel. Mokuba stared at the door, then at Seto, clearly troubled.

Seto only folded his arms in silent misery, and shook his head. "Mokuba?" Seto's voice was soft and uncertain, as he gestured towards the chair for Mokuba

to be seated. "I..._damn it_, Mokuba. Is what you said to Yami true? Is _that_ how you feel?"

Mokuba bent his head as if surrendering his neck to the executioner's ax, and squirmed. Seto's heart was near the breaking point as that long, empty silence

reverberated in answer. There was no answer except the tear slowly trickling down Mokuba's quivering cheek as he only sniffled, before his hands suddenly

latched onto Seto's. His head shot up, and his eyes were glowing with pain, as he jerked his head in desperate negation.

"Seto, I _love you,_ and I hate this! I hate the fact that I have to say good-bye, I hate the fact that you're suffering so much, and most of all, I hate the fact that

there's not a damn thing I can do to help you through this. I want you to stay, I want you to _live!_ But, there's not a night that goes by anymore, Seto, when I

don't ask God to either let me take your place, or take you home, if that is what it takes for you to stop _hurting._ I want you to live, and I want you here. But,

not if it means you have to go through this hell to stay."

"And there's not a night that goes by that I don't ask God to spare you some of this, Mokuba. I'm fighting this the best way I know how, Mokuba, for more time,

more memories, more things to leave you with some comfort when I'm no longer...here," Seto buried his head in his hands, and crumbled into weeping.

"But, I honestly can't hold out much longer, and I'm so sorry for that, Mokuba!"

Mokuba stared, stunned as Seto sobbed, softly. It was the strain of the hospitalization, the cruel realization of his limited time yet again, and the overwhelmed

helplessness. It was pent up fear, and pain, spewing out and being released. Mokuba only wrapped his arms around Seto's and buried his head in Seto's shoulder. Both of the Kaibas wept together in that embrace, with tears that expressed what the words never could. The only time that Mokuba could ever recall Seto weeping like this was the night of Gozaburo's death. And that had come from Seto's shock of watching his death, not any actual remorse or longing for their hated step-father. Shivering at the memory, Mokuba only curled Seto tighter to him, and for a moment in that chaos..felt safe.

The discharge from the hospital was blissfully uneventful. Seto was quietly unhooked from the various apparatis, and was immensely grateful for that. He felt worn, and brittle, as if even a loud noise could shatter him, and he felt so weak and exhausted that he dozed off on Mokuba's shoulder after he was comfortably seated

in the limo. Mokuba only cradled him against him, protectively, wincing to feel Seto's very bones threaten to break through the skin. Sighing, Mokuba recalled how

tall and strong Seto once stood, with his eyes that could bring down dragons, and make people piss themselves with a veiled threat and a glare. Even a year ago, Seto had been slim, but robust, soaring high and as untouchable as a star. Legendary self-made billionaire, the envy of the world, and the savior of KaibaCorps,

all before he was even thirty. And now? Seto lay so vulnerable, and frail against Mokuba's side, his cheekbones sharp to the point of cutting through the shadows

that draped over his pale face. Mokuba stiffened as Seto muttered something under his breath, but was relieved when Seto sagged against him once again, resuming the light doze. Mokuba debated waking him, but knew that would embarrass the hell out of him, so he only let him sleep until the mansion finally rolled into sight. The limo glided to a smooth halt, and Mokuba was alarmed to see that Seto didn't even stir.

It was with relunctance and guilt that Mokuba shook Seto's shoulder and whispered his name. The touch stirred Seto's old, frenzied instinct, and he burst into

waking with a lurch and a small yelp of suprise. Mokuba watched as his dazed blue eyes panicked for a brief moment, then settled on Mokuba. Seto glanced out the window, yawning, and blinking. "We're home?" He asked, groggily, as Mokuba fought the urge to giggle. It was perversely amusing to see Seto so dazed.

At Mokuba's confirmation, Seto yawned again, and whispered, "Thank God."


	42. Memories

A/N:Angst Warning and flashbacks. Seto's thoughts are in italics.

Home. Seto had never remembered when he felt more grateful to feel the familiar sheets tucked around him, or the

steadying presence of his beloved little brother. Bleerily, he remembered being wheeled up the steps, quietly, as

Mokuba only whispered reassurance, and swathed another blanket over his bowed shoulders. The ever-faithful

Roland had helped to lift him and deposit him carefully into the bed. He remembered hearing Roland's grunt of paternal

concern as they settled Seto into prone position, and fluffed several quilts over his wilted frame. Roland had bid the

Kaibas a quiet wish of a pleasant night, and Mokuba gave him a polite thanks. Roland had left for the night. Mokuba

resumed what he had come to label 'guard duty,' and resumed his lonely vigil and light doze in the large and comfortable

chair next to Seto's bed. He startled awake each time Seto moved in his sleep, until exhaustion and strain finally overcame

his overshot nerves, and Mokuba fell into a deep sleep himself.

The bright halo of sunlight over his bed was hot against his face, the alien sound of birds chirping and the cadence of

Mokuba's soft breathing was soothing as Seto eased out of his slumber, blinking and yawning. Seto stared with a frown

of concern to see Mokuba's crooked neck, and the dark hair curtaining most of his face. Had Mokuba really sat propped up

in that chair all night just watching him sleep? Seto was both irritated and touched. Before he would have dismissed even his

brother's concern as unnecessary sentiment. Seto scowled when he remembered Gozaburo's words echoing in his mind, and

shook the unpleasantness away. The past was the past,and it was never a pleasant stroll down memory lane for him. It was

the darkness of past nightmares and things that were best left dead and buried. Wearily, he said a prayer for Mokuba, then

propped himself up on elbows to gaze out at the sunlight pouring gold against the navy walls of his room. With a weary smirk,

he realized it looked almost like ice. How appropriate.

Despite the cold veneer he presented to the world, and his apparent distain for introspection, Seto was regularly troubled

by the ocean of unseen issues that churned unchecked in his weaker moments. Emotions he hated to feel. The inward

rebellion against all that was forced on him, that he still clung to, regardless of the stupidity of it now. He had never, never

thought that Gozaburo's cruelty would be such a gift in the dark years afterward, but the rigid, fixed rules ingrained on his

soul had provided navigation for his behavior that nothing else had before. Languidly, he brushed his fingers over the scars

that were silver and small against his skin now. They had almost faded from view. Gozaburo was so calculated and controlling

that even his injuries' visability were concealed in a precise manner.

Flashback:

_Scars, and memories, not tears and certainly not grief. Weary resignation and an obligation of a token appearance as Seto _

_stood like a soldier at attention, Mokuba's small hand clenched in his own and his dark eyes peeping curiously at the mahogany_

_casket that lay so serenely beside the open hole in the grave yard. Gozaburo Kaiba's earthly remains had been lavished with the same_

_pomp and bullshit that the man would have adored, and Seto only grit his teeth to endure the eulogy. There was no preacher to say soothing_

_niceties about the afterlife, or the mercy of God. The funeral itself was spartan, regal, cold, and devoid of any mention of God, or_

_even an afterlife. As far as Gozaburo Kaiba had taught him, on many, many occasions, God was only for those too weak to decide_

_their fate, and any retribution in an afterlife was only for those who wanted to live in fear of the consequences. When Seto had inocently asked_

_where people went when they died, Gozaburo only snorted, and pat him, condensendingly. When a person's life ended, all that was left_

_was the body that became worm-food and the prestige that would fade with time. That was it. It didn't matter, and it was nothing more_

_than stupidity to concern himself with religious fairytales. Seto had cast his azure gaze upward at the soaring sky, where heaven was supposed_

_to be, where God was looking down, and then at his stepfather. How many lies had fallen from those lips, and how much suffering had_

_come from his hands? Gozaburo had proven to be false and cruel. And, certainly, his ego would not tolerate the possibility of Somebody_

_greater than himself. Seto idly wondered what transpired the moment that God and Gozaburo met, and smirked at the possibilities,_

_hastily hiding it with a dab of his silken hankerchief over the corner of his eye, in a sarcastic parody of wiping away a tear. Gozaburo _

_would probably pissing himself on the way to hell. Seto sighed, wearily. He balked at his sad realization that he derived no satisfaction at his_

_step-father's ending, only the deep,deep relief that it was finally over with, though he knew it would take him a lifetime to learn how to live without_

_him. His musings were interupted by Mokuba's gentle tug on his hand, and his beseeching dark eyes starring up at him. Seto only squeezed his hand _

_back, knelt down to gather his precious little brother in his arms, and whisper some much needed reassurance._

_"Mokuba? Are you alright?" Seto asked worriedly, as Mokuba only flung his arms up for an embrace. Mokuba only whimpered, shook _

_his head and buried his face in Seto's shoulder, his voice muffled as the inocent question burbled up between them._

_"Seto? You're not crying. Aren't people supposed to cry at funerals? Isn't it sad when somebody dies?" Mokuba was troubled, obviously,_

_but dry-eyed and looking guilty. Seto gaped down at him with raised eyebrows, stricken for a moment, before he only shook his head, and _

_ruffled the dark hair. "Just because somebody doesn't cry on the outside doesn't mean that they're not crying, Mokuba." Seto murmered._

_The speaker at the wooden pulpit had ceased his speaking, a dry, indifferent recitation of Gozaburo's magnificent business accomplishments,_

_the date of his birth and death, a mention of Seto and Mokuba being his surviving heirs. The sparce audience-mostly associates who were already_

_bundling up coat and straightening hems as they rose, were already trickling away, leaving the casket by itself, with the large, granite tombstone._

_Gozaburo's name had been emblazoned on it in high, bueatiful script, along with his death date. Seto stared at it for a long, long moment, then_

_glanced at the open hole waiting, and restrained the urge to spit into it. It would have been petty, and an insult to Seto's dignity. Throughout the ordeal,_

_he had to squelch so many treacherous impulses, like kicking the casket, or screaming at them all what sort of bastard was really being buried there._

_But, it was absolutely pointless now. Gozaburo was dead, except in his dreams. He was gone,except for the scars and the shadows and the memories.._

_Dead, and buried and best left there in the graveyard like so many of his memories. Seto had allowed Mokuba to drift away to look at the duck pond _

_bordering the cemetery, wishing to have a few moments alone to pay his own sort of respect. Mokuba sprinted away with a wide smile_

_towards the blue water, hollering and waving as birds scattered over the waves and the sun blazed higher. Seto thought it would only involve a _

_simple salute from his middle finger, spinning on his heel and walking away from that dark chapter, but...he felt those comforting assumptions_

_crumble with the rising tears. Seto shook his head, brought a shaking hand to his forehead, and scrubbed away the ache in a futile gesture._

_"Seeing me like this, almost weeping would have probably brought you more satisfaction than any amount of flattery. I never met anybody who_

_enjoyed breaking a child like he was a toy. I never even believed in monsters existing until you took my childhood...and, now, me. You knew,_

_even in dying, that I'd carry the aftermath of your legacy to my own grave, and that I would never be free from that. Death doesn't break the chains,_

_but it sure as hell negates your belief that it was all over with with your last breath. I'm standing over your body, wishing that I could summon the_

_will to hate you, to rip your memory from my existance, and now, I'm sadly realizing that even that's not enough to absolve myself from all of this._

_You were such a clever bastard, to make me a prison that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. Do you know what is so pathetic about this,_

_Gozaburo? It's not just the fact that I'm standing over your grave, fighting tears I never, never wanted to shed, or that I'm walking down the path_

_you hoped I would. I wish that I could give up trying to answer all the hows and the whys of these years. I don't know now if the answers would _

_make any difference, or even if I could live with them. It's taken me such a long-ass time to realize that I had to figure out how to seperate myself_

_from your shit before it drove me insane, and accept that there was just some things that I would never understand. You always told me that the_

_whys didn't matter, anyway. They were only distractions from taking needed action._

Seto let the tear roll down unchecked, and unashamed.

_There, you cruel, sorry bastard. I'm marking your passage with all the waterworks you despised so much.But, I think you know well enough by now that I'm_

_not just sobbing over you.. I could bawl an ocean, and it wouldn't matter. But, I'm still weeping, Gozaburo. I'm weeping over all the_

_lost years, and the pain, and the suffering. For my own parents, and my severed childhood, and the future wounds I'll have because of all the past._

_I'm crying for Mokuba's suffering, and my own. But most of all, I weep for you, you bastard. If suffering made me so brutal in everything, I can_

_only imagine what somebody did to you when you were just an inocent child, though I don't have enough charity to cater to that for long. What makes_

_it so pathetic, Gozaburo, is that it is all such a damn, pathetic waste. You could have done so much for me and my brother. Hell, you could have ignored _

_us and left us be, and that would have been a mercy. But, you never did make the right choice, though you had years and chances to do something differently._

_But, you never walked away willing, did you? It was never in you to leave the unconqured alone, even if it meant fracturing a kid's existance and breaking him_

_beyond healing. And the one question you never answered was why it had to be that way at all._

Seto watched Mokuba's delighted squeal as he waved at the ducks and laughed to see the birds take wing to the air and fly away. Mokuba turned to his big

brother, his smile bright as he waved enthusiastically and gestured towards the ducks. Seto forced a smile and a nod.

_I suppose now that you're in hell, that you may be facing yourself, and all your regrets. Maybe in the end of all these things, you finally figured out that so much _

_cruelty could not go unpunished even if I never see the price that you pay on that side of the sky. After a lifetime of so much bullshit, I wonder if you were brought_

_back for even one moment that you would express the slightest bit of regret. I wonder if I would have the grace to absolve you, forgive you...and let all this shit_

_go. Oh, God, for the grace to let it go. To just walk away like all of this never happened. To be normal instead of this thing of ice and instinct. Maybe it's a perverse_

_blessing, I don't know._

Seto sighed, wearily, and shook his head.

_At the end of all things, Gozaburo. At the very end of this existance, when you breathed your last as you hit the pavement, I wonder, what your last thoughts were?_

_Did you pray for forgiveness? Or, did everything come crashing down on you in all its clarity? Did you trouble yourself with regret? I doubt it. Maybe in the final_

_moment before your skull split open on the concrete, you might have finally figured out what a monumental f--k up you really were. I leave it to God to sort out all_

_the aftermath from that, you bastard. I can't. I could have shoved you off the balcony, and happily wished you back just so you could suffer more, and it would never_

_be enough punishment, or revenge. But, it's going to have to be, isn't it? I'm going to have to live with what you died over, you bastard. I hope that's a fitting tribute to your legacy. I only hope when my time comes...I do things differently. That would be the only fitting legacy for me._

Seto stared down at the gravestone for a long, silent moment, and walked away, never looking back.


	43. A Friend

Seto roused from the bitter memory with the welcome realization that the agony had faded to an echo of an ache, that the blade that had cut and hurt so deeply in his heart had dulled. Gozaburo's legacy, by the grace of God and serious introspection, and failed attempts, and deliberate intention, had died with Gozaburo, never to rise again unless Seto decided to go back and repeat the past. And, after knowing the hurt, by his own haunted years, and scars, Seto would never, never do that to himself again. It was over with. It was over with, and there was nothing to be done with any of it now, but move on.

It was the week after his departure from the hospital, and Seto spent the time mostly dozing, and reassuring Mokuba that he was alright. The tether was slightly losening, and Seto could feel his days uncoiling as quickly as falling rope. Mokuba had noticed that Seto's eyes had taken on the weariness of his illness, as his brother slowly shuffled from bed to chair, and did not even bother maintaining the front that walking was an option unless it was desperately called for. The bout of flu had taken a monsterous toll on Seto's energy, and Seto was, for the first time, openly admitting to it, though it was a hasty, sarcastic admission, punctuated by Seto's snarl of denial that anything else was amiss. Mokuba was tired from attempting to navigate the volital minefield of Seto's mood swings. He gave Seto the distance he needed to get 'his head on straight, and some issues worked through so I can at least attempt to be human,' as Seto put it. And Seto pieced himself back together, as he spent hours alone, scribbling in his journal, pecking on his computer, and reading. The journal itself was rich, black Italian leather with his initials embossed in gold across the side. He had gotten it the day after he was diagnosed, in an attempt to keep some semblance of control over his ever rampant thoughts, and to give Mokuba some insight to his life after he was gone. Seto noted with a scowl that it was halfway full. His scowl deepened, morosely as he wondered how many pages he had left to fill, and if he would have the time.

He had settled down for his latest unloading of his daily troubles, his pen quietly flooding the lines with his precise, and elegant script.It had been another leftover from Gozaburo. His hand had often ached from holding the pen so precisely, and his knuckles had been bloodied more than once from the ruler's smacking. But, now Gozaburo's eldest adopted son wrote bueatifully.

Seto's quiet scribbling was interrupted by Mokuba's soft knocking. Seto sat with pen and eyebrow raised as Mokuba almost timidly enteredthe room, and Seto only smiled wanly in reassurance. "I'm fine, Mokuba. I'm not going to shatter if you make a little bit of noise. Is everything alright?"

Mokuba gestured behind him. "Yeah, Seto, everything is fine. Yami came by to visit,and he's waiting downstairs. Are you feeling up to him visiting for a bit? Can I show him in?"

Seto snorted. "I imagine the curiosity is eating him alive, not to mention the fact that I've not had my theraputic purging with him for a while, now."

Mokuba stared down at him, as he flung his mouth open, gearing up for a rant in all the Kaiba ire to defend Yami, as Seto hastily waved him down. "Don't piss yourself, little brother. I know that Yami's done a hell of a lot more for me than most other people have done, and he's earned my respect. Please, show him in, and enjoy a few hours on the town. You deserve it after being cooped up and watching me."

Mokuba wryly shook his head, chuckling. "Seto...never mind. I'll show Yami in, and I'll be back before he leaves."

Seto stiffened at that, biting back the sharp question of if Mokuba honestly expected him to just flop over dead if he left him alone. There was no point in even starting that cruel argument. Forcing a smirk, Seto only nodded and waved his brother out. A little while later, Seto heard Yami's deliberate boot heels against the wooden flooring, as well as the precise knock, the call of his name.

"Enter." Seto coldly commanded, with a smirk.

"I shall." Yami's sarcastic and regal reply was puncuated by the door suddenly flying open and Yami striding in, without waiting for any further invitation. He graced Seto with a glare of concern, as he stood uncertainly by the desk and only seated himself after Seto's hand waving in invitation. Yami looked distant and haggard, and Seto gave him a troubled glance to see Yami hunched and wrapped in a thick blue-jean jacket in addtion to the thick sweatshirt.

Raising an eyebrow, Seto bluntly spoke, "You look like hell, Yami. What's the matter with you?"

Yami curled his lip, with absolute rancor, and he whispered, hoarsely, "I was the unlucky recipient of your illness, Seto. I have spent the last week in bed, or vomiting every bit of anything I could have comsumed for the past eon, due to the sad fact that I contracted the flu."

Seto choked down the chuckle at the irony, and attempted valiently to keep the laughter from his voice. "If I admit to feeling guilty about that, would it make you feel better?"

Yami shook his head, sourly. "I know it's not your fault, and you never intended for that to happen. I just wanted to make sure that I was no longer contagious and capable of sending you back to the hospital again before I came to visit."

Seto only smiled, wanly. "I appreciate that. Especially considering how glorious my last visit was, and how close I came to not coming back."

Yami lowered his head as the blush flamed his cheeks. He felt petty and mean whining about an inconvience while Seto had been fighting for his life just a few short days ago. He heard Seto's weary sigh of understanding.

"Don't make this any more overblown than it already is, Yami. I know how close I came to not being here...twice now, and I'm still dying. Hell, the only reason that I'm even home now is because I couldn't stand the possibility that I would...end my time...there."

Seto's breath was shaking as he folded his arms and mouth into a grim, pale line, as he stared up at Yami. "Do you understand that, Yami?"

Yami clenched his shaking hands into fists, and balled them uselessly under his armpits as he blinked back the tears before Seto could see. Seto did notice, but said nothing. He'd be a bastard to ridicule Yami for that now. Softly, Yami only muttered, "No, Seto, I don't understand."

Seto stiffened, his defenses rising sharp and hard against Yami's verbal barrage, but watched as Yami only shook his head. "You don't need to defend yourself, Seto. I have no desire to argue with you on your decisions, especially concerning this. I have no right to that."

Seto tilted his head, completely flummoxed by both Yami's barely hidden turmoil, and vague rambling. Yami closed his eyes, shook his bowed head. "I can only imagine the anguish you went through being hospitalized like that, Seto. You have the right to decide where you'll spend your days. I know this."

Seto frowned. "Then what is it that you don't understand, Yami? And why are you looking like Yugi would if somebody shot his puppy?"

Yami only shuddered as if Seto had shot him and he hadn't fallen yet. "You almost died, Seto. Twice, and I was a witness to each incident. Did the thought even occur to you that maybe your...situation may affect my life just a bit?"

Yami blanched to see the wounded hurt light across Seto's face, as he wearily scrubbed the ache from his forehead, curled his arms over historso and slowly let out the held-back breath.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do, Yami?! It's not as if I'm intentionally doing this to you for some perverse dress-rehearsal! Yes, I am aware of the fact that my situation might affect your life, because it's ending mine!" Seto spat, trembling, as he fought for the last shreds of his self-restraint not to dissolve into sobbing. The realization had hit him anew with the force of a blow, and it hurt as it shattered every pathetic defense he had mounted to maintain some normalacy.

"Yami, I thought we moved beyond this a little bit, damn it! I thought that I had finally accepted the fact that it really was over with, and I'm done, but...damn it to hell, how many times do I have to do this?! How many times do I have to put up with this uncertain bullshit and regret the fact that I didn't really end it when I had the chance?! When is it going to be over with, Yami?! When the hell is it going to be over with?!"

Seto's hysterical rant ended with a yelp-like cry as Seto buried his head in his hands and started quaking. Yami's only answer was silence, as he hesitantly approached Seto's wheelchair and softly called his name. Seto grunted thickly, flung out a hand to gesture him away. Yami glided backwards a few steps, guiltily. He never, never intended for Seto to suffer more. Finally, Seto raised his face, glassy-eyed and mottled red from the strain, looking raw and agonized. Seto was stricken to see that Yami looked miserable, as well.

"If I had the answer, Seto, I would have told you, by now. I don't even know any more if the answers would make this any easier for you to bear. If it did...seeing you almost leave the world twice now should logically make the actual dying a bit less of a suprise...but it hasn't at all. Seto, I apologize. Clearly, I shouldn't be here right now, when I'm in this state. You don't need my issues to contend with, and I'm sorry to add to your problems."

Seto only chuckled, brittle, and harsh. "Do you have any idea how rare and refreshing it is to hear that somebody else is just as at a loss to figure out how any of this is to be dealt with? I'd rather deal with somebody who respects me enough to admit the fact that they don't know how to deal with this than endure a bunch of well-intentioned flowery crap with a smile. Maybe it does me a bit of good to know that I'm not the only one who feels that way, Yami. And, believe me when I say this...I have so many problems right now, that your issues wouldn't even amount to a drop in the bucket. "

Yami scowled. "A drop of water may be the one thing that drowns the man, Seto. I don't want to add to your suffering."

Seto smirked, wryly. "And a drop of water doesn't make that much of a difference, if the man is going to drown no matter what, Yami. You haven't done anything to make this situation worse. Honestly? It helps."

"How?" Yami narrowed his eyes and settled back in the seat, more at ease now that the conversation had taken on a bit of a lighter tone.

Seto's shoulders rose in a shrug, as he tapped his long fingers against the arm of his wheel chair. "Even the great Seto Kaiba has to be human sometimes, Yami. Haven't you noticed that I'm just as subject to the instinct to bawl as anybody else any more?"

"I believe that we've established the fact that I don't censor you for your tears, your emotions, or anything else, Seto. It never was my place to do so."

Seto's eyebrows quirked at that remark as he nodded. "Forgive me if I change the subject, Yami. It's not an easy one for me to venture into, at the moment."

Yami's answer was soft and sad. "Understandable, Seto, but for what it's worth...Gozaburo was a fool, and you are testimony to that."

Seto visibly paled. "How did you know that I was thinking of my step-father, Yami? Is it that obvious?"

Yami only shrugged. "You and I share the same...personal quirks that make us unreadable to the rest of the world, have you not noticed? That is probably why we...can read each other so well. Your reaction to so many situations is like looking into a mirror."

Seto shivered, narrowed his eyes, but allowed the wary regard to relax a bit. "I have noticed. Our...mutual tolerance of each other would not be possible for anybody else to even comprehend, let alone endure. Heck, the fact that we're even having this conversation without snickering or running to defend ourselves says something, doesn't it? But, I have a question for you. Since I've divulged so much of my background to you, I want to know...what made you who you are now?"

Author's Note: Yami angst in the next chapter, sort of along the lines of Seto's rant beside Gozaburo's grave. 


	44. With Faces Radiating Outward

Yami bit his lip, almost nervously, before sliding his eyes back to Seto with a level, pointed glare. Stiffly, he gestured, eyes narrowing even more. "What exactly do you want to know, Seto?"

"Why is it perfectly acceptable for me to spill my guts to you, but you're now raising your guard like a dragon circling its gold?" Seto's pointed question was answered by an even more pointed answer.

"Because anybody else even troubling themselves to truly understand me would have been put off long ago by my supposed 'game face' that I wear to the rest of the world. Or maybe I need atonement for acts that I have committed long ago that I cannot erase. Does it matter?"

Seto looked very troubled and hesitant, as he nodded, solemnly. "I think it does. Go on."

Yami grunted in agreement, as Seto gave him a sad wince of understanding. The dark pieces of all that was left unsaid by Yami was alarming. Seto chilled with a sudden pain he could not quite name, and only waited for Yami to continue.

"I know that you worry that you will become your hated step-father, despite all the reassurances that you've been given. I am not chastizing you for it, if the guilt and the fear keeps you away from it. But, to give you a bit more certainty that you are not your step-father, perhaps it would help and enlighten you to hear what such an action feels like from the perspective of a perpetrator...namely, me." Yami stabbed his collar bone with a rammed thumb for emphasis, as Seto folded his arms and shook his head.

"This I have to hear"  
"I was once as twisted as your step-father, though a shade darker than even him. But, unlike you, Seto, I do not have the perverse luxury or excuse to blame my behavior on an abusive past, or the actions that shaped me when I was a child. I willingly chose cruelty, even relished it."

Seto's face contorted at the admission, as he narrowed his eyes, and growled, "Why?"

Yami gave him a bitter smirk, and a minute shrug, as he settled himself back. "Because I could."

Seto's eyebrow quirked as he flung a hand out in a gesture to continue. Yami only sighed, wearily, his eyes falling on his fingers that he was now busy twisting into so many little knots. Seto's scowl deepened, warily.  
It must be one hell of a story coming to make Yami's veneer crack to the point of this much nervousness.

"Have you ever wondered, Seto, what exactly it would be like to be God? How much human effort has been squandered and destroyed for that unreachable attempt for a power that we have no right to have?"

Seto snorted. "My step-father was a pretty good example of that. Where exactly is this going, Yami?

Yami only offered him a sad, broken smile that made him seem as old as time itself and haunted as Seto himself was. "Indulge me a moment, Seto. It will explain much to you, I think."

Softly, Yami only slid down into the seat, uncertainly, and began, in a halting voice that sounded of words being ground out over the boulders in his throat...

Looking back on his own brutality, and the savage excuses he made to himself to justify something that was so balantly out of his normal regal restraint, Yami could only recoil in absolute horror. Raising his violet eyes to heaven, Seto watched as Yami and made the very, very solemn vow that the blood that once coated his shaking fists would never do so again.

It had been over something so simple, and so stupid, and so...wrong. It had started as a leisurely Saturday afternoon. Yami, and Joey had spent most of it wondering around Domino, strolling to the arcade,  
enjoying the usual greasy fries from the local fast food resturant. Yugi had the misfortune of catching a touch of a cold, and was cheerful, but excused himself in between his rasping and constant-nose blowing. The day had passed uneventfully, a simple summer evening hanging out with a trusted friend. Joey had laughed and ribbed him good naturedly as Yami flinched and only scowled up at him, rigidly. Joey's grin faltered and he offered an awkward apology that Yami accepted with equal awkwardness. But, they had soon resumed their easy going meandering through the pleasant streets of Domino.

Joey only had a brief time to wonder exactly what the hell had hit him, and he rose with a groan. Yami, on the other hand, was sprawled across the concrete, staring skyward. It was the snicker of contempt, and the falling sillouette of darkness that was blocked by the sun that Yami first saw. Joey glared at the short, squant teenager that had broadsided them, and brushed off the dirt from his coat. "Watch it, will ya?"

Yami only watched in contempt as the boy who broadsided them only curled a lip and muttered something about Yami's dimunitative size and a certain part of his ananomy being in question.

Joey turned over his shoulder, and shrugged it all off with that easy forgiveness that Yami so envied. Stooping, Joey merely scooped Yami's arm in his own and attempted to haul him to his feet. To just leave the sting of that insult behind, and not let it fester in his gut like an infected wound would have been the right choice. Maybe it was the livid anger that had suddenly shot the fire through his veins, or maybe it was how sensitive Yami was about his less than envious height. Yami did not know then, or now why he did exactly what he did in the next horrific moments.

Yami rounded on the fallen teenager with a snarl like a caged tiger, proceeded to launch himself into a dizzying arch.  
Joey only had time to catch the lingering sound of the animalistic growl, and the blur of blue and magenta as the boy and Yami toppled and rolled. Joey watched in shock as Yami's balled fists flew directly into the boy's face, and shuddered in horror at the sound of the nose splintering from the blows, the blood dribbling down as he writhed and screamed and pleaded. Joey watched, stunned as Yami halted the assalt, briefly, to drag the boy's face closer to his clenched, shaking jaw to spit, "You'll be sorry you ever bumped into me, you..."

Even Joey paled at the absolute filth that spewed forth from Yami as he continued the verbal onslaught, puncuating each with a fist in sick time to the boy's grunts and screams, as Yami only continued to swing and smirk. Vaguely, he heard Joey's shriek of his name, the hands latching on his arm in an attempt to stop what Yami had let spiral so out of control. The face of the boy was nothing but scarlet mush, by then and Yami's knuckles were soaked.

Yami, in a fit of miscalulated aim, or rage, suddenly, blindly flung a fist out into the general direction of the irritation that had hindered the beating. His fist collided with Joey's cheek, and Joey staggered backwards several feet from the blow. The world froze as Joey only whispered Yami's name, cupped a hand over the quaking cheek that was already starting to bruise. Yami was so numb, he barely felt Joey's own fist glancing over his face, and forcing him to face the madness of his rage. Yami only trembled in sickened realization as he turned. Joey stood over him, with a sad expression,golden eyes, and hair, haloed in fiery light from the glare of the street lamp, emphasized by the white circle around him. Joey's normally cheerful expression twisted into a mask of cold, dead fury and a glare that could cut stone.

The glare hit him like a slap, as Joey grunted, leaned down, and hauled Yami to his feet. "What in the hell were you thinking, Yami? What could possibly be going through that thick head of yours that this"  
Joey flung an irate hand over the darkened street, with distain, as his other fist curled tighter into Yami's collar, "is any sort of path that you ever want to go down? Trust me on this, buddy. Walk away from it, now.  
Walk away, and don't look back."

Yami only hung his head. "Thank you," he murmured through the swollen lip. Joey only shook his head, ruefully. "We need to get this guy to a hospital, Yami." Joey gestured towards the whimpering pile of teenager at their feet, but nearly bolted when the teen only shot upwards, gave them both a scathing glance, and disappeared into the darkened street.

"Or, maybe not?" Joey shrugged, and shook his head.

"Joey, I...I am so sorry. I don't know what-" Yami's voice trailed off uselessly as Joey only shook his head, and gave him a forgiving grin. "It's alright, Yami. I slugged ya back, we're even"  
Yami shivered in misery and shrugged off Joey's concerned nudge with horror. He couldn't stand being handled by friend, or enemy at the moment, and he only backed away before he completely lost it again Joey only gawped in disbelief as Yami tensed, almost in tears from the sheer panic that was roiling in his gut. "Yami? What the hell-"

Joey's kind, but completely unhelpful tirade was cut short by Yami's strangled whimper of horror and grief, as he slid to his knees, and did not even notice Joey's steadying arms at his shoulders. Joey shuddered to feel Yami's tremor and fought to keep his jaw falling open.

"Forgive me." It was a pleading invocation, but Joey was not sure if Yami was seeking forgiveness for something so much deeper than the passing blow he had endured. And seeing that spirit's torment...Joey shrugged away the impulse to ask. He just didn't want to know.

They stood there, silently, Yami's misery evident, as Joey gave up on the attempts to make it right. There was just nothing to say. Quietly, Joey jerked his head in the direction of the Game Shop, and Yami merely nodded as the lone tear slid down his cheek. Joey tactfully ignored it. Yami walked with his head bowed, looking as if he were condemned and going to his own execution. Joey could not remember ever seeing the normally regal, and emotionless Yami broken and so contrite. It was more unnerving than the rage that had passed, and left the unpleasant aftermath of guilt and lines being crossed to deal with. Joey sighed, ruefully.

They lingered in the shadows of the Game Shop, when Yami raised his tortured eyes, seeking an absolution for whatever sin he committed. Joey might have snickered, but his cheek throbbed in aching reminder.

"I've never, never done anything like that in my life, Joey." Yami whispered, mournfully.

Joey only nodded, grimly. "And after tonight? I don't think you'll be doing anything like this again, will you?"

Yami shivered. "Never. Joey, I crossed a line, and broke a boundary tonight that I can never get back. It...was not worth it."

Joey sighed, and gave him a sad smirk. "Yeah, I know, Yam. It's just too bad you learned the lesson after the problem, eh?"

Back to Seto and Yami...

Seto's eyebrow rose in consideration as he crossed his arms and sat back, tilting his head, and saying nothing for a long moment. Yami only stared up at him, and shrugged indifferently. Suddenly, Seto huffed in visible annoyance, as he shook his head with a snicker.

"I fail to see how trading blows with an asshole who collided into you and then made fun of your proportions can even begin to compare to the sins of my step-father, Yami. That sounds like you just had a momentary reaction to an irritation. As far as I know, you never did make it a habit to beat the hell out of anybody else, did you? I can see why you did that, and I'm supposed to be the cold-hearted bastard, here, Yami. You just have the reputation of being...cold."

Yami quirked an eyebrow, sarcastically, "Does that mean you are not repelled and horrified by my one episode of madness? "

Seto snorted. "One episode? Spare me your miscalculations, Yami. Though I will say, hitting Wheeler was cruel and uncalled for. Regardless of what issues I supposedly have with the mutt, at least I never slugged him. It's not as if one mistake can just send you down the road of unredeemable evil, Yami. I think the real question would have been what would have happened if Wheeler hadn't stopped you."

Seto saw Yami shudder and wilt, but said nothing. Yami only shrugged, whispered, softly, "I honestly don't know how it would have ended, Seto. I never thought that I would have been capable of just assalting somebody to the point of breaking a bone, and actually being angry at a friend for interferring. I never knew that I had so much...rage...and to see it come out? It was...horrific."

Seto sighed, and shook his head. "The fact that you were absolutely horrified and the glaringly obvious fact that you have been consumed enough by guilt not to do that should say something, Yami. Nobody enjoys being confronted with their own capacity to give in to a darker impulse on occasion. Nobody enjoys the possibility that they could snap and do something irrivokable. That's why there's so much social sanction against giving in to blind, stupid anger. But, it's human nature, Yami. Anybody could have done what you did. Hell, most people probably do without so much angst and useless self-recrimination."

Yami crossed his arms, shrugged. "You bring clarity to the situation long after it's passed, Seto. And I realize now that I did you no favors in telling you this. My apologies. I suppose it's one of those more human things that all people eventually accumulate and can't undo. It...will not be an easy thing to live with, if and when my life is over with."

Seto only looked away, and muttered, darkly, "Guilt never is." 


	45. Of the Shadow's Purge

The silence was uncomfortable, when there were no sarcastic barbs to sling at each other. Yami only sighed,  
scrubbed his spikes with curled fingers, crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair. It was a heavy, mahogony monstrosity, complete with dark, gleaming wood and blood-red silk cushioning. Yami was grateful for how stiff it felt against his spine. It kept him several times from surrendering to the urge to curl up in fetal position. Seto had said nothing after his comment about guilt for a long time, but Yami noted uneasily that Seto had suddenly adopted an extreme interest in his hands that he kept clenching in his lap.

Seto sighed, shifted suddenly and only grunted at Yami's questioning glance. "Yami, guilt is a very stupid thing to live with. It only keeps you chained, and drowning. It doesn't do any good for the person wronged, and it just keeps you in a constant state of blubbering, bleeding, whimpering bullsh--. Maybe you like that sort of thing, but it would seem grotesquely out of character for you to wallow in it. You walked away. Move on and grow the hell up."

Yami shrugged, indifferently. "Is it truly that simple, Seto? Do you mean to tell me that you just casually dismissed all of your wrong-doings from your memories, and you have absolutely no issue with them now?"

Seto chuckled, darkly. "It would have been that simple if I could have stayed a heartless bastard. Life is a lot more convient if you're not troubled with petty little issues like respect for other people's feelings, you know."

Yami arched an eyebrow high, as he narrowed his eyes. "Sadly, you are very, very right. But it has the makings of a very lonely life."

Seto only smirked in bitter knowing at Yami's understanding shake of his head and snicker. "Gozaburo had no respect for anybody, and as far as I know, never regretted any of it. Hell, he was willing to take a swan-dive off the balcony in front of me just to make sure that I suffered watching his skull split like a watermelon with a hammer hit. I accidently put you through the same thing with my little pill escapade, didn't I?"

Yami only shook his head, sadly, his violet eyes distant and considering. "The key word being accidently, Seto. You didn't really think through the consequences, or the aftermath to anybody. I really think that your suicide attempt was at first planned out, but wound up being a desperate act spurned on by absolute panic.  
Gozaburo, from what you told me, wanted you to suffer. That, I don't understand at all."

Seto gave Yami a troubled glare at his probing, and then shrugged the discomfort away, as he sighed and rolled his chair away. "Gozaburo is-was-fairly easy to understand, if you're content to leave it alone and just assume he was a monster, a bastard..very simple, and clear-cut...but I never had the ability to just assume anything and leave it alone. I envy Mokuba's ability to accept the situations of life without so much production and angst and useless introspection. It will save him both complications and anti-depressants."

Yami chuckled, wearily in recognition of the shared pain. The conversation had once again drifted into the uncomfortable, revealing grey areas. Yami shook his head, wondering if it were ever possible to have a casual conversation with Seto again. He shrugged away the question, not sure that he wanted the answer.

"I guess we all have some dark thing inside that we loathe to the core, but yet can't overcome, Seto. Whether or not it's worthy of such hatred is a decision only you can make."

Seto jabbed a finger heavenward, eyes rolling skyward, chin jerking sharply. "Hence...my interest in the Almighty.I know that I can't be absolved otherwise, and regardless of how much I may have scorned it once, I need that now. Especially when the ending is so much closer. I'll be there a lot longer than I'm here, so...it helps."

Yami couldn't help the chill that iced down his spine as he sank his lip into his teeth. The bald, vicious truth, once again, had emerged like a hemmorage from deep inside, to bleed anew. Seto stiffened to see Yami look up at him, nearly in tears. Surely Yami had not forgotten that Seto was dying, still?!

"Why the hell is this still so hard for you to accept, Yami? You saw me nearly die twice. Don't tell me you seriously didn't realize that eventually...I'll actually be dead."

Seto seemed to choke in horrified realization at the same time Yami shuddered as if struck. Numbly, both stared at each other. Seto was the first one to look away, and Yami noticed the tremor of his shoulders as Seto ran his fingers through his hair, looking as if he were going to vomit.

Seto paled even more as Yami's words, laced with rancor and compassion slid like water over his unwilling ears, "Realizing, and knowing have not done one damn thing to make any of this easier for me, Seto. Where in God's name did you ever think that it was supposed to be right and easy to watch a friend die, Seto? Exactly how in the hell do you expect me to prepare for this, anyway? Should I just consider the two times you were nearly lost as some perverse dress rehearsal?!"

Yami was heaving, and absolutely livid, the rage making his cheeks and eyes the same vivid crimson. Seto waved an irrate hand in the air between them and ground out with an extreme effort not to shriek or sob, "What kind of sick, f--ed up comment is that, Yami?! Excuse me all to hell that my dying isn't convient enough to accomodate your life! Excuse me all to hell for not being able to hold myself together the way everybody expects me to because I'm the great f--ing Seto Kaiba!"

Seto halted his rant when he heard Yami's strangled words die in his throat. Yami wilted in loathing of the situation, of himself, of constantly trying and failing to do what was right...Yami wasn't sure what it was any more, and he suddenly felt so weary of the whole situation, he had to fight the urge to bolt like a started animal.

The heavy silence almost hurt Seto as much as Yami's dull shrug, the twist of his mouth as he only folded inward, even deeper in retreat. "I am sorry, Seto. I had no right to assume anything."

He heard Seto's disgusted inhalation of breath, peered up at him through the golden bangs as Seto only shook his head in resigned dismissal.

"Apologies are pretty useless at this point, Yami. As are assumptions."

Yami quirked an eyebrow at that. "And what assumptions am I assuming wrongly, Seto? Enlighten me, please."

"Assuming is a great substitute for thinking, but it's a piss-poor answer for anything beyond that. But, if it's any consolation, there's a lot of assumptions that I once held dear that have been abruptly...taken."

"Like?"

Seto shook his head, offered Yami a wan smile. "You want a damn good, concrete example? How about death-specifically, mine. There's a real screwed up romantic conotation to it...lovers dying in each other's arms, the martyr willingly giving their life for their cause...or my favorite, the bullsh-- in the movies where there's just a sweet exchange of words, maybe a last kiss, and then the prince just closes his eyes and sort of..drifts away. That's just unrealistic, narcistic crap, Yami."

Seto shrugged, as Yami scowled. "While I don't disagree, Seto...the actual dying is something that we can only assume until we know. Isn't that why you have faith to guide you through this?"

"Faith is hardly assumption, Yami, and the comfort of the afterlife means more to me than I care to divulge.  
Yes, I do believe that the Almighty will help me when I need it, and that's a sanity saver. I've heard of martyrs who willingly lay down their lives for something better, who can bear torture and be content with a rich reward in heaven. I can't...not after what I've lived through so far."

Yami tilted his head, and his brow furrowed at the odd turn in the conversation. "Then...what is it exactly you fear, Seto?"

Seto shivered, miserably. "Dying, Yami. I am scared as hell of dying. That I'm going to suffer as much as I did the first time, or be a babbling nutjob as much as I was the second time. There wasn't any light at the end of the tunnel, Yami, or any angels winging down to take me home. The first time..." Seto shuddered, and crumpled at the memories and the guilt.

"I remember swallowing the handful of pills and expecting nothing more than to just drift off and never wake up again. And then, I was falling, my entire body going numb, and collapsing. I just lay there, waiting, when I heard you call my name, and vague snatches of conversation. I remember Mokuba's face, peering over me as he was weeping, as he asked me why, over and over again. I remember just laying there, so helpless and unable to move, or even cry at that point. I felt so absolutely pissed at myself for putting him through that, and I remember begging God to give me a second chance, and ironically realizing that it was a really stupid time to want to live after attempting suicide. I didn't deserve it, after putting Mokuba through that hell. And then, the waking had me convinced for a few less than happy moments that I had actually gone to hell. Imagine expecting nothing but oblivion, and then waking up to find yourself strapped down while a group of people tries to suck your stomache out of your body through your throat. I felt them sliding the tube down my throat, heard the suction, and then proceeded to have everything I could have eaten for the past decade being forced back up my throat. I never knew that I could hurt that much and still live through it. I couldn't jerk my head away, I couldn't scream, I couldn't do anything. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever lived through. Then, when the sedative kicked in, I finally went under long enough to sleep some of the pain away. Thank God that I lived, though I wasn't too pleased with the waking, and the aftermath.


	46. As Seto Lay Dying, Part One

Yami said nothing, only drummed his oddly elegant fingers against the mahogony wood, and then raised those eerily aware eyes to Seto, with a gaze that was curious, but not condemning, or scornful. Seto shrugged, wearily as he only fingered the small silver cross at his neck, twisting it over and over again until Yami wondered if he'd actually snap his sanity, or the chain from the sheer tension. "The Almighty answered that prayer,obviously. I lived..."

Seto sighed,deeply, and settled back in his chair, his hands coming to rest on the grips, and curling into anguished fists. "But, for one horrible moment, Yami? I was mad as hell that I did. I was infuriated with you for interfering with my one gamble to control the outcome of the one thing I feared the most-dependency. And it was a miserable failure. I know, it sounds so damn screwed up- thanking the Almighty for sparing me for a bit longer, and then getting angry over the fact that I survived."

There was so much left unsaid, so much that had passed that Seto wasn't even sure could be summed up so neatly into mere words. Shivering, he recalled the helpless moments of the mistake he would lament for the rest of his shortened life...

_Seto remembered the eerie numbness of the oblivion gently creeping over his surrendered slump on the floor, the pills still dribbling from the overturned bottle and rolling around his head. He was not moving, but he still felt like he was falling, the ocean roar and the icy dark hungrily lapping at his failing senses, as his heartbeat thundered with a dull echo against his raging fear and ever coiling instincts at war with the impulse to surrender. A thousand echoes reverberated, fragmenting as time went from racing madly in his plument to the floor, to torpid, wrenching ice._

_His cheek barely registered its violet smack against the tile beneith his head, and Seto could not even wince at the dull thud that should have hurt like hell._

_His breathing was slowing, his heart was slowing, his thoughts were racing, his mind screaming._

Great_. Seto dully mused. _Now is one hell of a time to figure out that this was not the wisest decision to make...now that I can't undo it...

_Fear roiled in his gut, he could feel the burning bile leaching like fire up his closing throat as his eyelids suddenly felt as if they were made of weighted concrete. It was suddenly a fight to keep them open. His breath started coming in short, frantic pants that rapidly decentigrated to the failing heaves of a dying man. Images flooded his mind, memories seared across his faltering synapses, as if his mind were frantically replaying the moments in tribute to the life that would soon be lost._

_His brother's beloved face appeared, and Seto's heart convulsed, shattering. If Mokuba were to find him dead by his own hand._

_It was an act of cowardness and cruelty that would have put Gozaburo to shame. In his last moments of life, Seto heard Gozaburo's long hated chuckle of sick satisfaction, burbling up from the darkness of the pit he was falling in like blood from a wound. _

NO!!_ Seto screamed, futily. _God..._Seto implored helplessly with his last co-herent thought, _

Please! I...I...

_His thoughts fell from his awareness into dripping sensations in the muted, heavy dark. He felt his limbs slacken, his breathing loud and hard finally yielding to the pull of the sedative into lulling, relaxed stupor. Vaguely, Seto heard his name roared in his ears, his body being flipped over on its back, somebody pawing at him before everything went dark and cold._

_Thoughts did not form, life did not trickle back...he remembered the waking of his stupid act to be absolutely a vision of hell. The roar of the world beneith him, as the gurney was propelled down the hospital corridor under the trails of glaring lights blazing down upon him in one whining line of heat...He was strapped down, helpless, and so scared! Faces with masks, grim faces with eyes full of fire and condemption hovered over his own sweating brow, peering at him with so much scorn as he heard snarled and broken bits of speech. _

_"Overdose...kid is damn lucky...cancer?...hell, a waste...dying anyway...rich bastard...intubed with the stomach flushed...he'll live...prep him, will you?_

_Seto was in too much of a fragmenting swoon to even begin to decipher the garbled words. He felt gloved hands creeping over his chin, and his head and world tilted, again. He didn't feel the needle sliding into the back of his hand or the sedative that was supposed to take him under or at least out of awareness. _

_All he could do was lay helpless and tranfixed as the gloved hands hovering above his mouth hastily jammed his nose with the prongs of the oxygen tubing, and some sort of numbing spray was shot into his open, quaking throat. Seto choked, the sob only burbling into a muted squeal that might have been a scream if he had the breath or the use of his throat. His throat constricted into frozen stranglation as the numbing agent relaxed his gag reflex so that he would not accidently choke on the tube they were preparing to slide down his throat._

_The tube, clear, gleaming from the lubricant, and gently curved was eased to his lips and Seto felt it being slowly inserted down his throat. Seto's throat convulsed in the instinct to gag, but it only heaved futily as Seto's tears trickled down his quaking cheeks. The tube kept sliding in its relentless pursuit, and Seto's eyes bulged in dismay at the length of the tubing that was uncoiling into his body. Somewhere, he felt a gentling hand stroking his arm, and somebody whispering soothing nonsense, soft as a lullaby, and angelic in contrast to the high hum of the suction machine. _

_Seto saw the clear liquid searing its way down in his throat in one carefully controlled, gushing torrent, disappearing down the tube. Seto felt the warm liquid swirl down his throat, and settle for a horrible moment into the pit of his stomach. It grew firepower and erupted back through the tubing in a burning gush that left him feeling so nauseated and weak, he almost wished that he had died._

_His tortured gurgling of remorse only brought a sympathetic pat to his arm, as a kindly nurse stood over him, and told him that it would be done soon, that he would live to see the end of this...that it would be alright. God had answered his prayer. and he would live..._

_Seto felt vaguely comforted at that knowledge through the haze of pain and confusion. The horrific procedure being completed, the tube was gently withdrawn, and Seto was left with feeling his throat being scraped raw to the point of bleeding, and staring bleerily at the ceiling, panting._

_A dark wave of nausea suddenly gripped him and Seto nearly panicked again, miserably curling into fetal position with a moan. His stomache continued its torture of quivering nausea and aching and his throat felt on fire as Seto helplessly rolled himself to the edge of the bed, scooted his head to the edge of it as close as possible. His stomache erupted with the vomit, as his eyes flooded with tears. Thankfully, a kind CNA posted in his room to observe him had the foresight to shove a trash can under his face, and hastily helped him upright so at least his bedding and gown would be spared. Seto heaved, and heaved until the horrible urge passed, and then he wilted, crossing his arms protectively over his throbbing stomache and miserably allowing himself to be lowered back onto the gurney. He felt...soiled and sick from the overwhelming guilt that he had betrayed Mokuba so cruely. Severing their time together with all the thought somebody else might put into_

_selecting a magazine, it had happened so fast.When he thought about the torment of facing his brother, he whimpered again, and perversely wished he had been successful. It couldn't be any more humilating or painful to face himself right now. Tears, hot and wet, burned their way through his wavering vision, as he sobbed and prayed, and lamented. It was too late. It didn't matter if he hadn't been successful, there was no way in hell Mokuba would forgive him. And when the news broke tomorrow about Seto Kaiba trying to off himself...Seto's shrill whine and burrowing deeper into the thin sheets was the same instinct of a dying animal. How had it come to an ending as horrible as this? How had he sunk so low...what poison was so entrenched in his blood that he had been traumatized for life by seeing his own step-father's exit, and yet was so futilly following the same road to hell?!_

_Seto whimpered in anguished denial._

God, please...

_He wasn't even sure what to ask for. There wasn't any absolution for a mistake of this magnitude, was there? Somewhere in the shadows, he envisioned Gozaburo's smug sneer as he snarled at Seto for his surrender, and Seto sobbed in sorrow for all that he had lost in one stupid act._

_He flinched when he felt the sudden hand draping over his quivering back and shivered. Miserably, he rolled his head to see who had come to invade the worst moment of his life with such deliberate disregard for his privacy. His sobbing quiver, his gaping gown, and the fact that he was absolutely broken at the moment made him feel that much more futile and nakedly defenseless._

Author's Note- Seto's experience is known in layman's terms as a 'stomach-pumping.' In medical terms, it is called a 'gastric lavage' and it's not usually done any more for people who overdose.

The next chapter will be a bit...brighter, hopefully. And, this is a flash back from Seto's suicide attempt, written from his point of view. If it sounds a bit realistic...well...


	47. Belief

A/N: This is a continuation of Seto's memories regarding his suicide attempt, and takes place after the

gastric lavage and before he has any visitors. It has a bit of angst, of course, and the non-religious might

squirm. My apologies for any confusion here. I guess this could be considered a dream sequence. Italics

are Seto's memory. The regular script is resuming the conversation with Yami. I apologize for both the lapse

and the less than spectaluar chapter. I hope to have something posted later this week, but with grad school

applications and a new job, we shall see.

_Craning his neck over his shoulder, and twisting the thin sheet to conceal his hunched form and bare back,_

_Seto snarled in irritation as he hastily scrubbed the tears away with the back of his hand. He was unnerved_

_and rather terrified to see that the room was empty. Scowling in puzzlement, he gave the room a scathing glance_

_and flopped down into the haven of sheets again._

_"What the-" Seto tried to maintain his usual intimidating presence, and the attempt faltered miserably._

_His voice was raw and hissed from the abuse his throat had taken, even more so than_

_his usual abrupt speech. "If it's not medically necessary, and it can possibly wait, please go away.I'm_

_not in the mood for any more medical intervention right now."_

_He heard a soft sigh of weariness, but no retreating footsteps, and his scowl deepened as he burrowed_

_deeper into the sheets, his lips almost pulled into a pout. "What part of going away is not registering here?  
I'm giving you two seconds, and then I'm reporting your ass."_

_"Mr. Kaiba? You certainly do need intervention. Divine intervention, actually."_

_Seto groaned, in irritation. "Is that so? Read my chart, idiot. I'm dying of cancer. Can you tell me what_

_sort of divine intervention is at work here?"_

_There was an amused snort, and then a deep voice laced with wry compassion. "Strange words from a man who is_

_here by his own hand, Seto. As for the divine intervention? You lived. You were spared from making a tragic,tragic_

_mistake. I will not insult your intelligence by pointing out that your brother Mokuba would have been shattered by losing_

_you in such a cruel way."_

_Seto shuddered as the tears rose, heedless of the monsterous amount of effort he put forth to squelch them into_

_submission. Seto cringed in humilation as the betraying wet slid down his cheek._

_"He's losing me anyway. What damn difference does it make? What difference does any of this make? I can't take it_

_back! I can't fix any of this!" He snarled and curled deeper into the bedding. "Please. Just go away."_

_"Would you take it back?"_

_Seto forced himself upright in irritated anguish, throwing his arms out in outrage at the question, and trembling_

_for the last precious bit of self-control._

_"Of course I would! Why in the hell would I want to put Mokuba through this?!" Seto nearly sobbed._

_"Why are you doing this to me?" Seto whispered softly. There was only the silence in answer, and then_

_the compassionate,regal voice intoned with gentle understanding.._

_. "What your dear brother is going through is only a shadow in passing ompared to the needless remorse and guilt you are so burdened with, Seto._

_You were spared because your time is not done. I grant you absolution, Seto, if you accept it. I never abandon those who call Me._

_Do not fear the ending of this. I will be there for you and your brother, as I have always been."_

_Seto's eyes widened at the pearled light of heaven filling the room, and for once, he had nothing to say. There was no _

_need, as he swallowed hard, and nodded, mutely when he realized Who had deemed it necessary to pay him_

_a visit. "Thank you." Seto whispered. "Just...be with me through this, alright? I can't do this alone."_

_He felt the warm compassion glowing down on his torpid body in a slow, soothing embrace, as the_

_Voice only whispered, "You are never alone."_

_When Seto awoke in the silent room, he found himself alone, but with a strange, warm reassurance_

_cradling his fears, and holding him steady as the world and his body fell apart. He flinched at the cold_

_glint of metal that winked against his heart. Timidly, he slid his fingers over the small, slender chain that_

_looped around his neck. His eyebrows slowly climbed higher as he slid the chain out from the folds of his_

_sheets, and undid the latch to release the neckace. Seto could only suck in air and tears to see the_

_small cross glittering like a star in his quaking hands. He glanced around the room, but was not suprised at all_

_to see that there was no trace of anybody being in his room at all. He ran a finger over the slender rungs of the_

_jewelry and felt the etched word gently carved across the middle. Raising it to the light of the side lamp, he_

_only blinked to see the word "hope' emblazoned in the elegant lettering. _

_Seto only stared around the room again, and shivered, but not from fear. He slid the sheet over his shoulder,_

_and felt the burdens and cares and the scars and remorse flow away like water, to be replaced by some odd_

_peace. Yawning, Seto cast away the cares of the day to come, the remorse and the bitterness, his mistakes._

_With a whispered, "Thank you," he curled back to sleep, and enjoyed a slumber free of nightmares that he_

_had not had in years._

Seto's shoulders hitched uncomfortably, wondering why it was harder to talk about his core beliefs than it would

be to deliver a scathing rant in all of Gozaburo's folly, and realized with relief that he didn't want to. There was

no need, though he had cringed at suddenly divulging such a private story. Compared to the other things Yami had

witnessed, though...if Yami was a friend, or at least polite, he would not hassle Seto about something so volital.

Yami said nothing, accepting all of the story with a nod of his head, and a small smile of understanding. "I do not think any less of you for

having beliefs, Seto. Do they not say that He works in mysterious ways?"

Seto shrugged, with a sigh. "He certainly does. I just...hope that the answers are worth the trial. I mean...

I've lived one hell of a life, Yami. I mean, a boy genius, a billionaire, Gozaburo Kaiba's progentry, not to mention

this face that one of those damn teeny-bobber crap-mags once said was 'carved by the hands of angels.'"

Yami and Seto both snickered at that, as Seto mockingly swirled his fingers under his chin. Yami grunted in

amusement, until he saw the sadness in Seto's eyes, the vulnerabilty, and the paradox of how Seto could look

so young, and so tragically old.

Sighing again, Seto settled himself back into the chair, raised his burning eyes to Yami. "I want you to understand something,

Yami. For every supposed blessing that's landed in my lap, I've had something that much deeper taken away, and I have the

scars to prove it. You've seen them, you _know._"

Seto closed his eyes, wearily. "I've been through _hell,_ and I acknowlegde that I've done more than my fair share in contributing

to my own bullsh--. But, when they give the usual flowery crap about what a privledged existance I have...or, soon, had''

Yami fought the bone-deep shudder at the reminder of Seto's expiration date edging ever closer. Seto's eyes narrowed, but he said

nothing.Seto just shook his head. "Just remember something, please. Just remember that I was just as human

as the rest of them. I don't give a damn who understands that, or accepts that. But I'd feel somewhat better in knowing that you...

get it."


	48. Faltering

Yami only nodded his acceptance, and chewed on his lip, uncertain if the next words would hurt or help. "I never expected you

to be anything more or less than human, Seto. I've always respected you as a fellow duelist, and despite your flaws, have never

had any reason to fault you for your less than amirable moments. I think I've proven that, haven't I?."

Seto only turned away, bowed his head, and whispered, softly,"Will you be there to watch me leave?"

The question hung between them as Yami bit back the reply, and only gave Seto a cold glare. He faltered, miserably,

and was unable to give any answer under the seeking gaze of Seto's haunted eyes besides the helpless, uncertain shrug.

"It's no secret that I'm dying, Yami. I mean...well, look at me." Seto flung up an arm in an arching gesture from his knees to his

bowed back, with a wry chuckle. "I'm withered and spent as an old man and I'm not even out of my thirties." He raised his thinning

arms, grimaced at the pale blue veins threading beneith his skin, the numerous scars from the IV poles, cupped long fingers over

his guant cheek bones, and winced at how sharp they had become. "God knows it takes its toll, this dying. I'm so tired of this.

And as perverse as it sounds, Yami..."Seto yawned, and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop it, shrugging apologetically.

"I'm...ready. Ready for this to be over with, take my final bow, exit for eternity, however you want to word it. You know how this

is going to end. I know it, too. My question for you is this...will you be there when it happens?"

Yami stared at Seto, levelly, for a long moment, before answering softly, "Do you want me to be there?"

Seto snorted, and gave him a meloncholy smile of acceptance. "It's not like a damn dinner party, Yami, where I hand out invitations, and

food. And it would be rather perverse to call it a 'going away party,' wouldn't it?"

Yami raised an eyebrow, and Seto chuckled, bitterly. "I walk a very uncertain line with you, Seto, between outright concern and intrusion.

I don't want to make this any harder than it is for you, as you know, since I say it so much. To intrude on such a private moment would be

horrifying fo-"

Yami was cut short by the vicious glare that Seto gave him, and the upraised hand waving away the words, characteristic of Seto's old

arrogance. "Don't be an ass, Yami. Do you really think that any of this is going to get any easier for either one of us? I know I don't acknowledge

it much if ever, but I do know you bend over backwards to not piss me off. I know. Rich will be your reward in heaven, if it works that way. I can't

really pay you back for it here on this side. You don't get it, do you?" Seto shook his head as Yami stared at him, bewildered by both the sadness

and the mood swing of Seto's increasingly volital temper.

"No, Seto, I don't _get it._ Be kind and explain it."

Seto sighed, scrubbed his aching head with bent fingers, and whispered, "I'm trying to thank you, you dumbass. For enduring all of my headtrips and

self-indulgent angst, and whining. For not betraying me and keeping your mouth shut about my babbling in the hospital, and being there for Mokuba.

I was never good at this kind of exchange, and though I am sincerely trying, here...it is quite an awkward, miserable failure."

Yami snorted at that, lifted his lip to sneer, good-naturedly, "To be _thanked _by the great Seto Kaiba is quite miraculous in itself. Perhaps I should attempt

walking on water, or parting the ocean."

Seto only narrowed his eyes, and scowled. "Forget it." He spat the words with ire and abruptly yanked the wheels of his chair forward, as Yami stopped

laughing, stunned by his newest mood swing. What had he said to piss Seto off _now?_

"Yami, I think it best that you leave now, please." Seto only groused with a hitching breath and an aggitated twitch of his shoulder, hastily hiding his face.

"Seto? What is it?" Yami's irritated concern was clear as he ignored the dismissal. Seto heard his footsteps behind his chair, and he swallowed hard,

bowing his head. "It's not...you, Yami.Respect my wishes and leave before I say something I don't mean. Please." The last entreaty was strained and

nearly shrill with a desperate plea. Yami had not heard that tone since Seto was drugged into submission at the hospital. Yami saw the trembling of Seto's spine as

he hastily propelled the chair forward in futile retreat. Yami's gut quelled, wondering once again if it would be more violating to stay or leave.

Remembering that Seto had almost died the last time Yami was tempted to leave him be, Yami swallowed hard, and gathered his resolve.

Seto stiffened, and glared over his shoulder, "Why the hell are you still here, Yami?! Please...just go! I can't-"

Yami scowled, and shook his head. "I will leave only after you give me your solemn word, Seto, that you aren't suffering from something physical that requires

me to call for help."

Seto swallowed hard and buried his head in his hands, shaking his head, miserably. "It's just pure emotion, Yami, emotionshat I suck at dealing with and prefer to

break down in the privacy of my own home, got it? Excuse me if it's not convient for you, and I prefer not to have an audience!!"

Seto practically snarled out the admission of weakness with a flushed face and the threat of tears. Why was he collapsing, yet again?!

Yami was openly staring at him, with narrowed eyes, and concern. Seto just grunted and pointed to the door. "Please, just go!"

Yami flushed in embarrassed apology, and nodded.

"Forgive me for my intrusion, Seto. But, to answer your question, I will certainly be there."

With those curt words, Yami spun around and left, leaving Seto alone in the silence as he just buried his head in his hands

and when he was certain he was alone, allowed himself to sob freely.

The tears, cleansing and releasing so much pent up anguish, trailed their fire down his cheeks as Seto wept for all that he was losing, and every emotion

he could not name. Like a river undamned, his tears burbled up, unseen, and for that, he was grateful. It lasted only a few precious moments, before he

heard the unwelcome, intrusive footsteps outside the doorway, and the equally loud bang and cry of his name. Mokuba stood in the doorway, his dark eyes storming

with pain for his older brother. Without hesitating, Mokuba strode across the room, and squatted down to Seto's level, his face furious and mouth already opening

wide to demand an explanation. Seto just shook his head at the silent demand and shied away.

"Mokuba, don't." It was a hissed whisper, raw from his sobs. For the first time, ever, Mokuba ignored the demand, and Seto suddenly found himself engulfed in the

violating embrace. He squirmed and then nearly shrieked when the grip grew punishing across his tender stomach, and instinctively shoved Mokuba's hands away with a cry of pain. "Mokuba, STOP!" Seto roared, and Mokuba's arms fell away.

Seto shuddered, humilated and hurting as he forced himself out of the folded position and wheeled himself away. He was heaving, and tense, and when he looked at Mokuba's stricken guilt, it only made the situation that much worse. "It hurts when you do that, Mokuba." Seto said quietly, as he tossed Mokuba the box of Kleenex.

"Seto...my God, I'm sorry! Forgive me, please, I didn't mean to-" Seto waved away Mokuba's frantic entreaty with a soft smirk that only his brother ever saw.

"I forgive you, Mokuba. I know you didn't mean it, so please stop the waterworks and tell me what you want."

Mokuba shrugged apologetically, and sheepishly offered his brother the cup of pain pills. Seto eyed them with an irritably raised eyebrow, and gulped them down without water. "That's all, Seto. Are they...helping?"

Seto groaned and nodded at the horrific taste. "Yes, they keep the edge off. I may get the dosage upped if they don't do more than that. Mokuba, sit down. I need to talk to you."

Mokuba nodded, curiously, and slid into the chair across from his brother. "Seto? What is it?" Mokuba frowned in concern as he noticed the tear's aftermath glazing Seto's eyes. He said nothing about it, knowing that his brother would only snarl at the intrusive questions of something so private. He knew more than anybody else how much Seto needed time alone to piece himself back together. He absently wondered if something bad had transpired between him and Yami, but shook his head at the possibility. There had been no shouting, and Yami had left with only a troubled glance backwards and a polite good-bye, not storming out in a huff after a screaming match.

Seto only looked small and afraid, as he spent a strange amount of time figiting, and staring at his hands. Mokuba waited patiently for Seto to begin, wondering what

could possibly bothering Seto so much. He was clearly frustrated and in a great deal of distress, as he folded his arms, and then loosened them again, only to refold them across his chest.

"Seto, it's not going to get any better unless you tell me what is going on. What is it?" Mokuba repeated, patiently, as Seto only sighed and forced his hands to be still in his lap.

"Consider it one of my irrational mood swings, Mokuba, but I think I might be going insane." Mokuba raised an eyebrow, uncertainly, and nodded, slowly. "Alright...and just what makes you think that you're going insane? Are the voices louder than normal?"

Seto scowled at the joke, and snarled, "Damn it, Mokuba, I'm not joking! Do you know why Yami just stormed out of here, looking so disturbed?"

Mokuba only shrugged, wryly, "Umm, no, Seto, I can't read minds. Did you accuse him of using hair gel again? And Yami being disturbed isn't really that unusual any more,big brother."

"I just blurted out if Yami had plans to be at my bedside when I die, Mokuba, and then nearly burst into tears in front of him. I called him a dumbass when I was trying to thank him for being here for me, and then ordered him to leave. Am I just screwed in the head?" Seto's azure eyes slid to Mokuba's warily. Mokuba only offered him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Sighing, Mokuba settled back into the chair, with a weary smile, knowing it would probably take longer than he anticipated to help Seto navigate out of the latest

sea of inner turmoil. Mokuba sighed again, and shook his head, slowly, "Seto...you're going through hell, not insanity. You're facing issues alone that nobody else can really begin to grapple with, and I think you're doing a damn good job in holding it together. The hospice worker told us that your emotions were normal, given everything that's happened. So, what's worrying you so much, Seto? Please, tell me. I want to be there for you, big brother."

"I..." Seto faltered miserably, then crossed his arms over himself as if bracing for a hit. He swallowed hard, forced himself to spew it all forth in one heaving stream.

"I don't know, Mokuba! It's not just fear, or depression, it's not just helplessness, or regret. It's everything and nothing, and I don't know if my sanity can stand much more of this shit!! It's not enough that I'm going insane, I'm dying, too! Damn it to hell!" Seto snarled and kicked a trash can. Papers flew and Mokuba watched the hissy fit in absolute dismay. Seto sighed, heaving, and put a palm to his forehead.

"Mokuba? I...I need to be alone for a bit, please.Forgive me for being an ass.I just need to get my head on straight, alright?" Mokuba gave Seto a worried scowl of brotherly concern, but nodded mutely as he stooped to pick up the trash can and its contents. He turned it right side up, gave Seto a long look, and silently shut the door behind him.

Seto shivered, again, grateful that he was alone, but not so pleased with the aftermath of being alone with nothing to shield him from the demons he had tried so hard to slay. Glaring at the encroaching darkness outside, he wheeled his chair to the desk, fumbled for the thick leather journal with his initials emblazoned in gold on the side. The leather felt cool against his flesh, the pages welcome and familiar as Seto grimaced at the decline in his once elegant scrawl.

_Another dark night after a day's passing, and I'm battling myself again. It's infuriating to be forever encircling the same issue, over and over again, but never get_

_any closer to absolution than when this whole debacle started. Riches, and power mean nothing to death, and even less to God, as I am sadly learning, and relearning anew. I find myself groping for answers to questions that I know no answer will satisfy. Why me? Why now? What sense is it for me to be cut down _

_in the prime of my life, while my bastard step-father died worthless and old, but with more years than I'll ever see? Why am I being forced to leave Mokuba alone in_

_this world, when God knows how cruel it can be? All the endless whys and reasons and futile attempts do nothing but distract me any more. And I have so little time to be bogged down with anything that's petty, or small, or insignificant. Whether or not my questions will be answered is a non-issue if all the pursuit does is bring fresh torment._

_I am watching my thin, shaking hand spilling out my deepest thoughts across this page,and staring outward at an empty, black sky, and feel my heart quell with despair at the notion that I'm insignificant,unworthy of memory, that my existance will be reduced to nothing but bones and eventually dust, that my remaining flesh will just decompose and have no further use than worm food. That all of this suffering will simply end, because I will cease to be, and that's the grand finale and the last chapter of an otherwise tragic saga. And then I consider my step-father's legacy, and the scars left behind, the memories. Gozaburo would be so proud of his own perverse immortality, if you can call so much memories lodged in my head a fitting tribute. If that's a hint of something lingering beyond the grave, I would take the non-existance than ever putting any human being through the hell that I've endured. Gozaburo's life may have stopped, but that bastard is still very much alive in the cruelest way. And he'll live as long as I do._

_But then, in these faltering moments, I don't find myself fearing the end as much as I fear. To say that I've become a religious fanatic might be an overstatement, but I do have faith in God, however odd, or frail or out of character it might be. I don't give a damn about pride in myself, or this failing flesh, I have seen how weak it is in the face of cancer, and I have no trust in it substaining against such an onslaught for too much longer. I'm dying, and I know it. I can feel my mortality slipping away like water, my bones trembling against my skin, and there's a daily fight to just stay awake and wade through my sluggish thoughts to carry on a conversation._

_My thoughts used to be so quick, and I used to fly so high, with a sneer at the world below. What a sad, bitter thing it is now to know that my frail pride was the only shield I had against so many things I never knew how to fight well enough to win. Maybe Gozaburo broke that in me, too. Pride is a pitiful thing to stand on, and the price in keeping it can be so damn high. Didn't Gozaburo's pride propell him out the window and straight to hell? Didn't my own pride nearly cost me my life? I still remember the aftermath of that, and how scarred Mokuba is, and even how much it affected Yami. Thank God that I was spared from that mistake, though I wonder how much mercy I deserve, for all the rest. To err is so shamefully human. To forgive has to be divine, because I find no absolution for it down here, God._


	49. Emerging

Normally, Seto shunned social interaction unless it was absolutely necessary. And even then, he felt awkward and rather

foolish, despite his outward grace and poise. He was skilled at making polite conversation with business associates,

and was quite good at the annoying hand-shaking, dog and pony shows he had to put on to advance his agenda.

He felt rather vulnerable without the social lubricants of wine and the expected politeness, and he seldom ventured

out in public, in part because of his notiority, and also, he never had the time. So, when he was having a particularly

good day, health wise, and Mokuba gently suggested that they enjoy their brief respite by "eating out like normal people,"

Seto only bit his lip and gave Mokuba his begrudging consent, and a solemn promise that Mokuba would not expect him

to eat "that disgusting, greasy garbage unfit for human consumption." Mokuba only grinned at his older brother sadistically, and

gave him a mocking pat. Seto rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking for strength to navigate the ordeal.

And what an ordeal it was.

Seto had generously, or (perhaps foolishly) allowed Mokuba to pick the place, and did his best to conceal his revulsion at

what he privately considered to be little more than a roach motel. The place itself was a hole in the wall hamburger joint that

Mokuba had discovered in his college days, and it served heaps and heaps of deep-fried things that Mokuba loved, and Seto

loathed. Seto fought the urge to sigh in disgust as Mokuba carefully arranged his older brother's arm over his shoulder so that

Seto could lean on him. Mercifully, he was feeling up to walking tonight, or else he never would submit to appearing in public.

Mokuba had raised an eyebrow at Seto's choice in clothing, as well, but let it pass without comment. In the privacy of his own

home, Seto preferred the comfortable and the practical over the dramatic and powerful, only wearing his dramatic trench coat and

buckles when he made an appearance. Tonight, Seto wore a rather large sweater that swallowed his thin frame in comfortable

warmth and concealed some of his thinning flesh that was his favorite navy blue, over a long-sleeved black tee-shirt. He wore

black cordoroy pants, a slender leather belt, and his most comfortable pair of shoes- a pair of boots that added an inch to his

already towering height, and let his feet feel wonderfully free from the hard, glistening business footwear he was normally forced

to sport. Over all of this, he wore the small silver cross he never took off, and his most casual long coat.

At Mokuba's insistance, they also by-passed the usual Kaiba pomp, and Mokuba drove Seto himself in his own car, instead of

a limo. Mokuba smirked in amusement as Seto eyed the various fast-food wrappers that layered the bottom of the car, and

distainfully lay his heels down the ankle deep mess.

"I'm not even going to ask why you choose to keep your vehical as your personal garbage dump, Mokuba, but it's common courtesy

to make sure that a guest in your car isn't subjected to having Taco Bell smeared on their shoes." Seto muttered in disgust as he

examined the dark mush smeared on his boot heel. Mokuba snorted, eyed the mess doubtfully, and said, "Seto? I don't think that's

even food."

Seto's lip curled, but he crossed his arms, worked the seatbelt, and said nothing more, but a curt, "Whatever the hell it is, Mokuba,

it's disgusting. Now,kindly get the show on the road, please."

Mokuba halted the keys, to turn and stare at Seto in worry. Seto was making a masterful effort to regain his 'old and cold'

arrogant facade, and Mokuba just grinned to see Seto rise to his full height and lose that tense, wary slouch. Seto

graced his brother with a smug little smirk, and Mokuba only chuckled softly, "Seto, don't worry. You still have it,

big brother."

Seto gave him a wan, gentle smile, in complete contrast to his harsh mask he had just worn. "Of course I do, Mokuba.

I just don't know if it's worth the fight to keep it."

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at that statement, and Seto only shrugged it off with a grunt. "Come on, Mokuba. Onward to the

grease pit."

Seto's mood had darkened considerably when they pulled into the parking lot, and they saw the swarming crowd of people.

Seto stiffened as if afraid, but then shrugged it off, forcing himself to rise from the car. With a jerk from his sharp chin towards

the restuarant, Seto strode forward, shoving his fingers into his coat pockets grimly, and not waiting for Mokuba. It was a lingering

reminder for Mokuba of how much power Seto still retained, as he began his unflinching glide towards the door. And since Seto

was several inches above six feet, he could cover quite a distance with little effort. Mokuba had shot up several inches over the years,

but he still had to strain himself to look into Seto's eyes when his brother stood.

Seto strode through the doors, stared in annoyance at the throng of chattering, shrieking college kids, and promptly marched to the

podium where a harassed looking greeter was perched, looking very nervous at Seto's intimidating glower. Seto ignored the snarls of

the crowd behind him, angry that he had "cut in line." Biting his lip, and looking to make sure Mokuba was at his side, he slid his

credit card into her hands. "Mr...Seto Kaiba??" She blurted out, in dismay at the name embossed on the card. Seto tensed and

his facial expression hardened at the sudden silence as the crowd eyed his proud back. Mutely, Mokuba cringed reassurance against

Seto's side, sliding next to him as if trying to shield his older brother from the heated glares of so many eyes behind him.

And Mokuba's heart clenched when he saw Seto staring at a framed magazine cover on the wall, that showed him a year ago. Seto

paled, visibly, his fingers slowly sliding into fists. The picture displayed Seto standing at the stone steps of the latest business triumph

He stood tall, and unwavering, his trench coat flaring at the waist, and that smug, knowing sneer, so pristine, so ruthless, as a few

cronies stood in the shadow he cast. Seto was silent as one groping hand palmed the glass frame, and then fell limply to his side.

Mokuba did not see Seto's face, but noticed the slight tremor of Seto's back. By then, the crowd had noticed Seto, and Mokuba

fought the urge to spit at them.

So many words, like "rich bastard, thinks he's better than everybody else," to "what the hell is he doing out of his tower," to even,

"is he a drug addict? Look at how awful he looks!" Seto said nothing, only coiled his fingers into fists, when he heard the scathing

remark about Mokuba's parentage, and a horrific inuendo about Gozaburo and incest. Pivoting sharply, he shoved Mokuba behind him,

and whirled to face his on-lookers. Allowing his eyes to harden to glittering saphire, Seto strode forward, crossing his arms in a great show

of impatience and allowing his arrogance to mask his hurt.

"Normally, I would not go through the trouble of debasing myself by gracing you assholes with so much as a comment, but since you are

all here, I suppose I might as well take the opportunity to enlighten a few of you more ignorant _f--s_ about the true nature of my life. I

am sure you have all garnered your no-doubt baseless information about me from the latest tabloids. I am here to confirm without hesitation

that I did not, in fact, sleep with six women. It was twelve. Being Gozaburo's adopted son and being the incredibly rich bastard I am, I not

only keep my own private harem at my mansion, I regularly drink, smoke, and indulge in every perversion you only wish you could afford in

your wildest dreams. I am suprised the tabloids are so tame about my incredibly wild sex life, actually. If you knew the truth about half the things

I do...you would piss yourselves, bow, and _beg."_ Seto's smirk was inviting and darkly hinting of many things that never were, and left so much

unsaid as he listened to the total silence of awed shock. He glanced at Mokuba who was gaping for a long moment, then snickered, and siddled

up to his brother's side with a wicked smirk of his own.

"Now, to address the not so subtle remarks about my appearance.I think it should be balantly obvious to you as to why I'm so damn thin. When you

do nothing but screw and pop pills, you burn a lot of calories. I believe the drugs would also explain my rather erratic outbursts as well. Do any of you

f--cks have any more questions for me? Hmmm??" Seto raised his eyebrow in a silent challenge, and was pleased to see the absolute shock had reduced

all speculation to stunned awe. Satisfied at the response, he only pivoted to the gaping waitress, slipped her a tip of a few hundred dollars and sent her

scurrying to find a seat that was "away from these dumbasses, please."

While they were waiting, Seto did nothing but stare at the crowd, clearly challenging any of the onlookers to take him on. Mokuba's heart swelled as Seto

stood there with all his old pride. Seto allowed himself a smirk of triumph to Mokuba, who only pat him on the back. "You still have it, big brother."

Seto only shook his head, gave Mokuba a sad smile. "I never lost it, Mokuba. It's...so good to know that. Thank you for suggesting this." Mokuba bit his lip

when he saw how Seto's eyes strayed back with clear longing at the picture.

"Seto? Do you miss it that much?" Mokuba ventured quietly, as Seto slowly turned his face to Mokuba's. Seto was remarkably impassive, but from the tense white

line that appeared on his forehead, and the way that Seto subtly slumped...Mokuba knew that his heart was breaking.

"That chapter of my life is over with, Mokuba, and I have no choice in the matter but to move on, which I have." With that harsh answer, Seto turned away from the picture, hastily and growled, "Now, where did the waitress go?"

"Seto, I can't begin to imagine how much it hurt for you to step away." Mokuba whispered, gently. Seto sighed, wearily. "No, Mokuba, you can't. And as much as I

appreciate the sympathy...it's not something I want to discuss here. I agreed to a night out to get away from all the farewells. Now, please honor that and _drop it."_

The waitress came back with great haste, carefully ushering the two Kaibas through the crowded booths while offering apology after apology for the wait. Seto

bit back the irritated sigh, and allowed Mokuba to politely ask for the drinks..a Coke with extra ice for Mokuba, and iced tea for Seto. Seto was grateful that the

uncomfortable plastic booth was at least at the back of the restaurant in a far away corner. It was almost as dim as a cave, but it made Seto feel more at ease.

He reminded himself to give the waitress another tip if she continued to cater so well to their wishes. Mokuba offered him a trembling smile, and Seto forced one of his own.

It was then that Mokuba's eyes suddenly brightened, and to Seto's acute embarrassment, rose from the booth, and belted out, loudly, "Hey! How are you guys?

Want to have a seat with us?" Seto craned his neck to see who the hell Mokuba was shouting at, and groaned to see Yugi's unwelcome and smiling face floating

towards them, flanked by none other than Yami, and Joey Wheeler. Yami's eyes narrowed warily, after seeing Seto's dismay, and whispered something to Yugi, who turned sharply to him with a rare scowl, and an abrupt shake of his head. Seto's mood turned even more sour when he saw Joey's goofy, stupid grin melt into

a glare. Seto cringed inwardly. Of all the things he sincerely wanted to avoid, a confrontation was definitely one of them. He only hoped that Joey would allow it

for once. Seto honestly didn't know what the hell he did to make the blond hate him so much, but he sincerely did not wish to find out now.

Mokuba gave Seto a nudge with his elbow and promptly slid into the booth beside him, leaving Seto flush and trapped against the wall. Yami, Yugi, and

Joey arranged themselves in the opposite booth, the smaller Motos facing Mokuba and Joey casually sprawling his long legs out from under the table and

accidently stomping on Seto's foot. Seto bit back the snarl, but gave Joey a glare, and a grunt. Joey, genuinely confused as to what Seto was already so

angry about, stiffened, raised his hands, and blurted out, "What the hell gives, Moneybags? You too good to mingle with the poor folks?" And topped it off with

a casual shrug. Seto only huffed in air, as Mokuba stared at him, alarmed. Seto managed to grind out, softly, "You stepped on my foot, Wheeler. I suggest

you watch where you sit down the next time, please."

Joey shrugged, again, apologetically. "Oh! Sorry." Seto said nothing more, but slid Mokuba a side glance as he settled himself back into the booth once again.

Yugi watched the icy exchange with a puzzled scowl. Awkwardly, he attempted to sooth things over by offering Mokuba a kind smile. "It's good to see you two

here. How have you both been, anyway? Seto, I'm glad to see that you're feeling better." The words were bright, and inocent. Mokuba grinned at Yugi, his

natural friendliness burbling up. Seto once again found himself grateful that Mokuba was naturally an extrovert. Seto was more than content to let Mokuba

do the bulk of socializing, which he did after Seto's nod of permission.

"Oh, we've been good, Yugi. Thanks for asking. How are things at the Game shop? Any new cards?" Seto watched in relief as soon Mokuba and Yugi were

chatting enthusiastically, and mercifully oblivious to the resuming glare that Seto got from Wheeler. Yami was clearly troubled as he glanced from Seto to Joey,

sensing the tension only increase as Joey ruffled the golden bangs out of his face and wryly whispered, "So, how's it goin', anyway, Moneybags?"

Seto glared at him, nonplussed, and uncertain if this was an attempt to tease, or be friendly. Grimacing as if he ate something that tasted awful, Seto worked

his mouth into as a neutral answer as possible, "I'm fine. And my name is _Seto._" His words ended in an icy hiss that made Joey's eyes bulge with amusement.

"'da hell's the matter with ya, _Seto_? Is this pissy mood of yours your best attempt at being friendly, or is his holiness too good to mingle wid the unwashed masses,

eh?"

Seto grit his teeth, and snarled, "Just drop it, Wheeler. Now is not the time or the place, and I'm rapidly losing what little patience I have to deal with you, mutt."

Incensed, Yami snapped, irritably, "Gentlemen, your petty grievances aside, I would ask that you either grow the hell up, and deal with each other like adults or

take your childish bullshit outside and away from Yugi and Mokuba. They don't deserved to be sucked into this, and I am honestly not in the mood to deal with

another hissy fit from either one of you."

Joey and Seto both glared at Yami. Yami merely shrugged, and waved towards the door. "If it can't be resolved, or ignored between you two, then at least have the

decency to attempt to talk it out before it comes to blows. I don't know what was the cause of so much anger between the two of you, but it's gone on for far too

long." Yami arched an eyebrow and stared levely at Seto. "Besides, Kaiba. Were you not the one that has the pressing need to absolve yourself of some issues,

while there's time?"

The blow was resignating and cruel, as Seto flinched in dismay at the barbed question. He could not believe that Yami would be bastard enough to bring up his own

weakness to flaunt in front of Wheeler, no less! Yami, unfortunately only stood the full and horrific implication of his words after they flew out of his mouth.

He looked absolutely stricken as he slapped the hand over his mouth and stared, wide eyed and sorrowful at Seto. And for once, the normally regal and restrained

Yami was now floundering, miserable and guilty at attempting to apologize, "Seto, I-"

"Save it." Seto hissed, as he slid his arms in his jacket, and snapped at Mokuba, "Move over, Mokuba." Mokuba was still chattering with Yugi, and turned to

Seto in suprise at his brother's dark mood, and obediently slid over to allow Seto to exit. Seto was heaving, and shaking with rage, as he silenced Mokuba's

questions with a curt, "I'm going outside to get my head on straight, and I don't want you coming after me. Any of you." He glared at Yami with a forbidding shake

of his head. And with that, he turned on his heels and exited before any of them could even speak.

Mokuba looked lost and confused as Yugi, watching as Seto disappeared through the door and out into the darkness. "What the heck was that all about?"

There was no answer, and Yugi watched in dismay as both Joey and Yami stared at each other for a lingering second, and promptly followed after Seto.


	50. Vague

Seto knew he was wondering rather aimlessly, without any purpose except to flee from the horrific tension that rose so unwelcome,

and to clear his head. He knew he had stormed out rather rudely, and at the moment, he truly didn't give a damn at the moment.

His muscles were quaking with unresolved fury, and while the night itself was unseasonably warm, Seto found himself grateful

for the extra layers of clothing, and the extra energy the anger gave him. How long it would last, he did not know, or care.

He was not foolish enough to believe for one moment that Mokuba or Yami would leave his much craved solitude interrupted

for very long, and he cringed at the demands for an explaination, or another bitch session on how ' he needed to quit pushing himself,

since he was so ill.' Mercifully, he was rarely subjected to such condensending bullshit, now. Mokuba must have bitten his tongue

until it bled, most of the time, any more. Seto winced at the sharp realization of how much Mokuba had danced around his mood

swings now without complaint, and felt unwelcome guilt rise again. He knew that he would apologize to his younger brother, after

he got ahold of himself again. Sadly, but not suprisingly, holding all of himself together was proving to be more and more difficult.

Seto had not gotten very far, maybe a block or so, in one meandering circle, his path lit by the stars and the occasional street light.

This area of town was a bit more rural than most, and Seto felt the refreshing wind blowing up through an open field flanking the

street. Raising his eyes to the bright sky bloated to exploding from the weight of the stars, Seto sighed, drinking in the bueaty and

welcoming the distraction from his earthly struggles. Vaguely, he wondered how the Hands of the Almighty could create such aching

splendor, and yet allow the illness that was slowly claiming him bit by bit. It was a paradox and a tortured one that Seto had mused

over many times in his darker moods. At the moment, though, he was just extremely pissed off and fuming over the fact that a simple

night out to escape all the usual problems had only served to bring them up again.

He was so tired of all the bullshit.

Wearily, Seto drew his long coat over his body, belting it tighter against the growing chill and halting to debate if he should simply

call Mokuba and demand that they go home or stay out here in his attempt to cool off and get his head on straight. Glancing around at

the peaceful night air, and the rare solitude, Seto slid the cell phone back in his pocket, after making sure it was on vibrate in case

Mokuba called. Seto knew that his little brother would either run after him, or fret himself into a frenzy wondering if he was supposed to

disobey Seto's wish, or wait.

Seto's musings were interrupted by the intrusive pounding of two sets of feet coming up from behind. Tensing, Seto warily raised his

chin over his shoulder and scowled deeply to see Wheeler and Yami making their way towards him. Yami seemed guarded and extremely

leery of coming any closer than necessary, halting about six feet away, and standing awkwardly, his eyes narrowed and considering.

Wheeler, for once, seemed to have demonstrated some restraint, after Yami gave him a long, pointed look and subtly jerked his chin backwards.

Wheeler only nodded, jammed his fists in the pockets of his denim jacket, and sighed, shaking his head.

Seto only sighed, crossed his arms and whirled to face them with his eyes already sliding into his characteristically icy glare. "Spare me from the

typical bullshit of condolences, and kindly let me irenterate, in case it wasn't clear enough the first time. _Leave me the hell alone."_

It was nothing more than a quiet snarl, restrained and bitter, as he forced himself to straighten from the nearly crouched hunch he had allowed his

body to relax into.

Yami only tilted his head to the side, clearly regretting the mad dash after Seto from the restaruant, and Joey only crossed his arms and glared at Seto

from beneith his golden bangs, irritated.

"Look...Mone-" At Seto's withering look that could scrape paint off a car, Joey hastily corrected himself, "Sorry-_Seto_- I..." Joey's words faltered miserably

when Seto only stared them down, balling both of his fists and tucking them under each shoulder. Seto only raised an eyebrow, and with mocking

patience, waved a flourishing hand into the air.

"Sorry, Wheeler? Why? Is it the fact that I'm dying, or you feeling guilty about being an asshole about this whole situation that's forcing those words out of your

mouth? Is it some pathetic attempt to avoid regrets about being unkind to the bastard Seto Kaiba, or are you both realizing here and now what line you just

crossed when I just asked you both to leave me the hell alone, and you ignored it?!"

Yami inhaled air in shock, and looked as if he had, in fact, swallowed his tongue whole as he turned his bulging eyes to Joey. Joey was flushed with fury, and balling

both hands into instinctive fists.

"And how in the hell am I an _asshole,_ you stuck-up, rich prick?? You're damn lucky that you're dying, you bastard, or else I'd..."

Seto glared sharply at the insult, and his eyes only grew colder. Grinning sadistically, he only shook his head with a bitter chuckle, spread his arms wide in mocking invitation. "Go ahead, _mutt._ If you really think yourself capable of taking _me_ down and winning, take your best swing, now, or kindly shut the hell

up and leave me alone. My dying just might even up the odds enough to give you a chance at least."

Joey only snarled back, "Get the f-- over yourself, Moneybags. I sure as hell ain't gonna fight ya in your current condition." Seto rolled his eyes heavenward,

and hissed, "How charitable of you. Should I assume it's an act of mercy on my part for not kicking your ass, or an act of mercy on my part for sparing you the embarrassment? " Seto sighed, and shook his head, renewed his sarcasm, as he moved his dirty look to Yami.

" Don't tell me you wanted to give me your kindly regards and a basket of roses, Yami. What the hell are you doing here, and why did the mutt follow you out here?  
Did the puppy get lost and you felt bad for him?"

Yami cringed when he heard Joey's grunt of anger, but did not expect the blond to actually lurch forward until he was nearly nose to nose with Seto and trapped against the wall. From the way that Seto's eyes bulged for a brief moment, Yami knew that Seto didn't expect it either.

Joey only stared at Seto, for a long, terse moment, golden brown eyes narrowed and considering as Seto fought the urge to belt him right there for being so violatingly close. He couldn't stand it for much longer.

"Ya wanna kick my ass, rich boy? Go for it. I'll consider it a last request." Joey gave him a mocking smirk before he abruptly stepped back and left Seto heaving, eyeing him with undisguised hatred, chafing from the sick reminder, and the source of it as Joey stood so smug and confident. Seto was nearly shaking with rage, as he snarled and shoved Wheeler away, sending him flying. Yami's eyebrows climbed high to see Joey stagger a sizable distance away, as Seto only looked

smug and gratified for a brief moment, before he resumed his irritated scowl.

"Consider that a taste, Wheeler. I'm relishing the thought of kicking your ass even more than normal, though I must admit that I am disappointed that it would only take a shove to bring you to your knees." Seto watched warily as Joey rose, and brushed the muck from his sleeve, distastefully, bit his lip, and with a smirk of his own, belted Seto flush to the chest. Joey watched at the billionaire grunted and curled an arm to his stomache, nearly doubling over with the suprising pain. Sucking in a breath through his clenched jaw, Seto rose, and hissed, "Do you feel better now, mutt?"

Joey only tilted his head, considering, and noting the white pinched line on Seto's forehead, and shuddered inwardly when he saw Seto's face. Seto looked like he was about to vomit for a tortured second before he resumed his hardened mask, and forced himself to stand straight. The question was mocking and betrayed no

hurt as Seto only stared down at them evenly, before Yami stepped between the two, palms out in defense.

"Enough!! I don't know if it's stupidity, wounded pride or bloated egotism that drives you both to such lengths of hating each other, and I don't care. I-"

Joey waved an irritated hand, and snapped, "Shut it, Yami. I don't think Rich boy here really appreciates your pamperin'. Fact of the madder is, I don't think

Rich Boy hates a good punch near as much as he hates you making his weakness an excuse to interupt our disagreement."

Yami only raised an eyebrow. "Then, please, Joey, enlighten me on how a blow to the stomach of a dying man is supposed to be a good thing?"

Joey jabbed a finger towards Seto. "Yami, would you give a s-- at all if he weren't dying? I don't remember you being so buddy-buddy before all this, so what gives

now?"

"Mutt, you are hardly one to lecture _him_ on giving a shit when you just punched me. But, lest there be any credence to the notion that I need _pampering-_." Seto let a fist fly and was gratified to see Joey's face crumple from shock to agony as bone and flesh almost snapped. Joey cupped a fist to keep the blood from staining his jacket, and hastily snatched the offered cloth that appeared out of nowhere. Joey warily pinched it over his nose, and was relieved to note that it wasn't broken. He was genuinely suprised to see that the hankerchief was actually one of Seto's that he kept, due to his distaste of tissue paper and the mess it made on his dark suits.

Seto's eyes warily slid up to survey the damage, was rather pleased and disappointed to see that his punch would only result in a bruise, if that. Quietly, he raised an eyebrow, and asked, pointedly, "Are we done exchanging blows, Mutt, or do you want this to continue?"

Seto sincerely hoped that Wheeler would use some good sense for once and just stop. His gut ached from the blow, and he wasn't sure how much more firepower his strained body and already overtaxed nerves could take. Seto, as much as he loathed it, would have to walk away from the fight if it continued. From the exhaustion that was greedily leaching at his energy, to that horrified, stricken look in Yami's eyes, he knew that things had gone too far.

Wearily, he waited for the answer, as Joey eyed the blood with suprise, and wiped it away, carefully, before allowing that odd and easy forgiveness to show, as he

grinned at Seto. "Ya pack one hell of a punch, Moneybags. I ain't exactly itching for another one." It was a gracious exit to a situation that could have turned even more ugly, and Seto noted that Yami exhaled the breath he had been holding. Yami said nothing for a long, long moment, only fisted his hands in the effort to draw some more stable air, and closed his eyes. Joey was suprised to see Seto's troubled frown as he stared at Yami. "What's the problem now, Yami?"

Yami shook his head, muttered, "Nothing another fight is going to improve, or an explanation will solve. I am glad to see that you two...have settled your differences, in however odd a matter. Now however perverse or temporary your truce may be, might I point out that now might be a good time to get back?I can only

imagine what Mokuba is thinking right now, or Yugi for that matter."

Seto only smirked, fondly at Mokuba's name. "I don't know about your cheerleader, Yami, but I know that Mokuba knows me well enough to give me the space I need to sort stuff out and get my head on straight when I ask for it. Unlike some people." He concluded, sourly.

"I don't know if it was touching concern, or idle curiosity that drove you two out here, and I don't give a damn at the moment. I'm not going to just suddenly drop dead, despite your wishes, Wheeler, and I'm not going to drift away after a pretty speech on my deathbed, Yami. And I really don't give a damn at all what anybody

thinks about my dying but me and my brother. Other people's oppinions have never concerned me all that much, and they sure are not a priority _now._"

At noticing Joey's stunned expression at Seto so bluntly referring to his death, Seto shook his head, tiredly. "Wheeler, I don't have the time to contend with your issues, either. Yes, I'm dying, no, I'm not shy about that fact, and no, I'm not wanting this to be the focal point for the rest of my shot to hell night on the town. You and I have never been fond of each other, but there's no point in continuing the bullshit right now. Are you man enough to be civil, or do I need to give you another incentive?" Seto smirked wickedly, as he popped his knuckles.

Joey curled a lip in disgust. "Fine, ya prick. I'll be civil, and make nice, if only for Yugi's sake. I still think you're a rich bastard, but,Seto?" Joey hesitated, as he

raised his eyes to stare into Seto's.

Seto raised another eyebrow at the searching tone in Joey's trailing words. Gritting his teeth, Seto gave him a grunted acknowledgment. "I never wanted ya dead, and I never hated ya."

Seto hid the look of shock masterfully, but could only nod at Joey. "That's...good to know, Wheeler." He whispered, with a smirk, and Joey could not tell if Seto was being sarcastic, or not. He didn't bother himself to ask as he watched Seto only cross his arms, and straighten his coat, and work up another smirk to be presented

to Mokuba. There was so much left unsaid, as Yami spun on his heel, and trotted back towards the resturaunt. With an understanding shake of his head, Yami only said over his shoulder, "I'll go inside and make your excuses. If you're not back by the end of the meal, I'll have it placed in a box for later."

Joey watched Yami leave, clearly puzzled as Seto grimaced at being left alone. Again. With Wheeler, no less. Apparently, Yami seemed to think that he needed to have another one of those gut-wrenching, boo-hoo fests with Joey as well. Seto wasn't sure if he should have admired Yami's manipulation, or hate him for it.

Eyes narrowed and his mouth screwing up into a puzzled frown, Joey turned to peer at Seto. "Exactly why do ya hate me, anyway? What the hell did I ever do to you?" Seto only grimaced, shoved his hands into his pockets and started to strive resolutely for the food place, only biting out the words, "Not now, Wheeler. Of all the damn times and people to have a discussion about my issues, you have the worst timing of anybody.. Now, if you'll excuse me-or not- even dying people have to eat."

"Oh? And when will that be, Rich boy? Am I going to get an explanation at your funeral, or will you bastard enough to haunt me as a ghost after you finally kick off?"

Seto slid his eyes to Joey's, and snarled, softly, "If I didn't hate you before, I'd like to thank you for giving me a reason to now. It makes your jackass persona that you have shown so masterfully everytime I see you all the more worthy of it. Let's ponder this for a moment, Mutt. Could it possibly that everytime I have the misfortune of being around you, you have the incessant need to call me a rich prick, or might it be the fact that you intruded on what I hoped would be a peaceful

night with my brother? I know it doesn't matter to you, Wheeler, but my time is limited, and I don't want to waste more of it on this damn discussion."

"All the more reason for you to hear me out, _Kaiba._ You and I ain't fond of each other, I know. But, I wouldn't wish what you're going through on ya. You ...don't deserve it. I just wish...that it wasn't like this for ya, Rich boy. For what it's worth, Kaiba, I'd rather have you alive and being the rich prick than dying like this.

It ain't right, and I'm sorry."

Seto did not look at him, did not acknowledge the words for a long, long moment, and then only nodded, whispered, softly, "As am I, Wheeler."


	51. The Reason Why I Weep

It would be difficult for Seto to decide which was more unbearable, the silence, or that sudden look of wary understanding that Joey gave him.

Uneasily, Seto shrugged deeper into his jacket, shoved his hands into his pockets, and shivered. It may have been a warm night, but that meant

nothing to his torpid body. Joey, meanwhile, had continued his undisguised assessment of the young billionaire, and was finding his eyebrows

climbing higher and higher at how...human and frail Seto looked against the darkening sky. He had always been tall, and on the thin side, but at

one point, his body was slimly muscular and he moved with unconscious grace. But now...Seto was slow, as he lurched away, bent and spent as

an old man, carefully picking his steps haltingly over the ground. From the way his frail hands had tucked the coat around his bowed shoulders, to

the new shadows that hung from his unnaturally gaunt and sharp cheekbones, Seto was clearly suffering. Seto caught Joey's stare, and turned

around to face him, a scowl already forming as he halted, irritated. Sighing, he pivoted to face Joey.

"What is it now, Wheeler? Are you that enamored with being in the presence of the great Seto Kaiba, or have I finally grown the horns everybody

has predicted for so long? Well? What is it?"

Joey only hitched his shoulders into a shrug, and shook his head. "Kaiba, I'm sorry you're going through this. Let's just leave it at that and go get some

food, alright?"

Seto stared at Joey for a long moment, warily, trying to think out the reason why the mutt would leave such an opportunity to hurt him ignored.

Joey sighed, and bit his lip, uneasily, before blurting out, "I wouldn't be suprised to see horns at all, Kaiba."

Seto gave him a wicked, amused smirk. "Never mind the horns, Wheeler, it's the fire you should worry about."

Joey snorted. "Ever the smart-ass. That's admirable, all things considered. That you can be dying and still maintain that Kaiba attitude."

"Is that your idea of offering sympathy, or should I be in awe of your astute powers of observation?" Seto asked, but did not care to wait for the

answer. There was none coming anyway, as Joey just shook his head. "Take it however ya want it, moneybags."

Seto cocked an eyebrow at that, tilting his head to the side, as he considered Joey's words, warily. Sighing, he nodded, slowly, muttering a soft,

"Whatever." Joey watched as Seto resumed his loping walk back towards the restaurant, and after lingering in the shadows for a brief moment,

trotted after him.

Joey was suprised to have Seto actually initiate the next conversation, as he only glanced over his shoulder cautiously, and sighed, halting again.

"Wheeler. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention anything of our...altercation out here to Mokuba or Yugi."

Joey stopped Seto with a hand laid over his shoulder. Seto snarled and jerked out of his grasp, instinctively tensing and extremely pissed.

"What the hell do you want, Wheeler? Another fist to prove my point that I'm not dead yet? Another chance to garner even more of my hatred?! What?!"

Seto nearly squawked the last word in one angry bark, as he fought the urge to put his fist through Wheeler's face. Why in the hell couldn't everybody

just leave him alone?

Joey looked rather awkward with his outstretched hand still cupped over the now abscent shoulder, but let his arm fall without comment, as he stared into

Seto's eyes with a bitter shake of his head. "I won't mention anything of it because it would only stir up shit, Kaiba. Never mind what I was gonna say, it's

probably unworthy of your rich prick ears anyway."

"If you call me a prick one more time, I'll personally rearrange your bodily organs so that you shit when you try to sing. Do you get me, _Wheeler?"_ Seto growled,

as he buried his arms deeper into the folds of his coat. He was so tired of Wheeler, so tired of everything. Chewing the inside of his lip, he debated if it was worth

sticking the rest of this night out, and decided that he didn't care any more, he just wanted to go home without anything else happening. Damn, he was so_ tired._

Joey's frown returned, as he cautiously siddled up to Seto, uncertainly. "Look, Seto. You and I ain't never been buddies, and I'm not proposing that we be. I just...

Why in the hell _do_ we hate each other, anyway? Whad I ever do to ya, anyway?"

Seto abruptly turned to him, fire in his eyes, and his mouth set in a grim, pinched line as he exhaled so hard that his nostrils flared. Joey gulped and backed away.

"What the _f-- _ is there to understand, Wheeler?! " He practically spat,trying to keep the exhausted whine out of his voice.

"Yugi is always singing your praises on what a loyal friend you are, and even Mokuba views you in a positive light. But,ever since I've had the displeasure of your aquaintance, you have yet to treat me as even a human being. I'm either a rich bastard, or a prick, or _rich boy,_ but it took me slugging you tonight to even get you to call me by my birthname. And now, when I'm about as low and weak as a person could be without being dead yet, you suddenly get the epiphany that maybe I'm not making up a story, that I really am dying, before you even bother to grace me with an attempt at a _conversation_?! Do you have any idea how insulting it is to have me almost dead before you even trouble yourself to address me with a bit more regard than some shit you scrape off your shoe? Tell me the truth, Wheeler.

Would we even be having this conversation if I _wasn't_ dying?" Seto closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a long, painful moment, before bracing himself to look

into Wheeler's wide eyes.

Seto's lip twisted in his teeth, and for one horrible moment, Joey wondered if he saw tears. The look was replaced by Seto's icy glare as he straightened himself and

stared at Joey evenly, clearly waiting for an answer. Joey's eyes hardened into golden stone as he only shook his head, bitterly. "And just what do you think I've been trying to do for most of the night, Seto, eh? Did it ever occur to you that you're such a hardass that nobody really knows how to act around ya? I mean, ya

snub people for bein' polite to you, you almost never smile, or even act...human. Ya can't treat the world like it's out ta get ya, or you're too good for it and expect

people to throw roses at your feet. Ya can't buy your way out of everything. It just don't work that way."

Joey bit his lip when he saw the effect that the words had on Seto, since he couldn't bite back the words. Seto winced, involuntarily, the hurt flinching across his face and vanishing into a cold sneer as he only shook his head with a bitter chuckle that sounded eerily close to breaking glass, as he drew his arms over his

chest. Shaking his head with a dismissing, knowing snort, Seto only shrugged. "It _never_ works that way, Wheeler. And as for me actually _buying_ my way out of

everything? Let me tell you something. I'm loaded, and I'm dying. Money doesn't make a damn bit of difference in my situation. I would give it all up in a moment if it meant that I would have time left to stay with my little brother. I would trade KaibaCorps right now if it meant that I could beat this thing and stop the dying. Hell, I would trade it all for _time._ And, I can't. Don't you see that, Wheeler?! I can't fix this, I can't stop it, I can't do anything but figure out how to keep my head on

straight until the end, and salvage as much life as possible until then. And if you have any issue about how I'm dealing with it, you can go f-- off and leave me alone about it!!" Seto finished the rant with a growl as he finally strode through the resturant doors, leaving Joey with his jaw nearly touching the grass.

Meanwhile...

Mokuba's face fell when he saw Yami with a stern face striding through the restuarant and silently gliding into the booth. Yugi gave him a questioning look, as Mokuba rose from his seat, and blurted out, "Yami, where's Seto?" Yami met Mokuba's eyes smoothly as he nonchalantly gathered up the menu, and scanned the

various food items. "Your brother is outside, Mokuba. He sent me back here so that he and Joey could work out their...differences. Seto told me that he would come back when he was ready."

Mokuba squinted in disbelief, as Yugi shrugged, puzzled. "Yami, are you sure that those two can work out their issues without coming to blows?" Yugi asked, softly, as Yami choked on the sip of Coke. Gagging, Yami clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from spewing the cola over the table as Yugi and Mokuba

hastily rose to hammer on his spine until the spirit quit coughing. Mokuba slid back into the booth only after Yami waved them both away, gasping, and eyes teary.

His voice was raw from the misswallowed drink, as he answered, "Yugi, they are both...mature enough to avoid needless violence unless it was necessary. Besides..."Yami offered Mokuba a small smirk, "I am sure that Seto is more than capable of taking care of himself." Mokuba gave him a grin as he chuckled.

"True enough, Yami. But if Seto's not back in the next five minutes, I'm going out there." Mokuba was interrupted by the rather suprising appearance of Seto as Seto spoke, coyly amused and coolly deceptive, "There's no need to form a search party, Mokuba. I am here, and quite ready to eat." Mokuba scowled up at his brother, sensing something amiss, but his questions were halted by the rather subdued hunching Joey. Joey gave Yami's sharp, questioning glare a shake of his head, and a smirk. "Yeah, where's the food? I'm starving!" Mokuba raised an eyebrow as Joey proceeded to down in succession half of the breadsticks that lay in the wicker basket on the table, his own drink, and then a handful of crackers all in a matter of moments. Seto shivered in disgust, and narrowed his eyes. "Mokuba, be careful

around his mouth, please. I wouldn't want you to lose a finger."

The food arrived shortly after, much to Seto's relief. He was tired of dodging Yugi's questioning glances, Mokuba's demanding questions, and most of all, Yami's concerned stare that never left him. Joey had wisely dropped any attempt at conversation for a moment. Not that there would have been too much to discuss, or

the opportunity. The blond had attacked the pizza much the way a starving shark might snap up a fish, and Seto did not attempt to hide his disgust as the pizza

was dismantled, rolled, and shoved into Joey's mouth, complete with the blond smacking his lips and licking his fingers. Compared to the restrained elegance that

Gozaburo had beaten into him, it was appalling. Mokuba only grinned around his sub when he saw Seto's disapproving scowl, before he shoveled half the sandwich into his mouth. Seto didn't have the heart to reprimand him, though. It was the first time he had seen Mokuba enjoy himself for a while. Yugi was easily chatting back and forth with Yami and Joey as he gnawed on his sandwich, some odd concoction of cheese, and mustard, along with a heap of fries and onion rings.

Yami's food selection was actually suprising...a platter of baked fish with some sort of dipping sause and corn bread. Seto munched on his own favorite-plainly cooked noodles with a bowl of shredded cheese. He was pleased that he had gotten it without too much of a fuss. It was a simple dish that didn't irritate his stomache, and one of the few things that he actually enjoyed eating. Seto ate in silence, only glancing or nodding or making some monosylabic grunt to any

question that was asked. Thankfully, the rest of the meal passed without too many inquiries or disruption. Seto was relieved that when Mokuba rose first, and slid out of the booth to let Seto out as well. Mokuba said nothing, but noticed Seto's growing irritation over the last hour or so, and felt guilty about making his brother

endure more than what he had to. And from the slump that Seto was trying to hide, not to mention how he nearly snapped at Mokuba, Mokuba knew that he had had enough and needed to get home. There were cheery exchanges between Mokuba and Yugi, polite handshaking from Yami, and a meer wave from Joey as the

Kaiba brothers slowly made their way to the car. By then, enough hours had passed that it was close to midnight, and it was clear that Seto was about ready to fall asleep as he only half heartedly attempt to latch the seatbelt around his thinning hips, before flinging the buckle away. Mokuba scowled, and grabbed the buckle, snapped it into place and glared at Seto, silently daring him to undo it. Seto only sighed, waved him away. "Fine, fine, I'll leave the damn thing on. But, you do realize that if we do have a wreck and I die, it would only be bringing about what is already happening?"

Seto was extremely startled when Mokuba slammed his fist into the steering wheel, and rounded on his older brother with a snarl, "Damn it, Seto. Do you think that for once we could have a conversation without you bringing that up every five minutes?"

Seto stared at him, opened his mouth and clamped it shut. "I'm sorry, Mokuba, but it is a subject that is literally consuming me. I can't exactly...not be focused on it, you know!"

Mokuba ran his fingers through his dark hair with an aggitated jerk, as he hissed out between clenched teeth, "It hasn't escaped my notice that you're dying, Seto.

But why in the hell can't we even have a simple night on the town to get away from it for at least a few hours? Why do you think I dragged you out here in the first place?!" 

"Because you wanted to hasten my demise with absolutely appalling food?" Seto's sarcasm crumbled when he saw Mokuba's tears. Contrite and absolutely stricken with guilt, Seto hastily questioned, "Mokuba, what is it? Why-"

Mokuba hastily wiped away the tears, and shook his head. "It's nothing that I want to discuss with you, Seto. Let's just go home." Mokuba was shocked when his

keys were yanked out of his hands as Seto snatched them away and shook his head.

"Mokuba, there's no way in heaven or hell that I'm giving the keys back until you tell me what is going on. What made you tear up like that?"

Mokuba flushed, humiliated, and trapped, as he shook his head. "You really want to know, Seto? Geeze, let's think that one over. My older brother is dying of cancer, and I'm having to say good-bye to the only family that I have left. I am now going to be facing a life that I never wanted to live alone, without you in a few

months. And the time and the attempts that I've tried to have a few memories of you that aren't completely dominated by you being so sick are always ruined by

your insistance on blathering about your dying every five minutes. It may be selfish, Seto, but I can't...stand that." Mokuba shuddered, miserably.

"Seto." Mokuba laced his fingers against Seto's elbow, and felt Seto's arm quivering as Seto bowed his head, eyes full of tears.

"Seto, I know that you're leaving me, and it's not your choice, and you've done everything you know to stay. But for God's sake, Seto, please, for once, give me the chance to have some memories of you that aren't centered around your health condition! Leave me with something more than just being forced to sit here and watch you go! I know that you're hurting right now, Seto. But, I'm hurting, too, and I wonder if you even understand that any more.

How in the hell am I supposed to do this, Seto? How am I supposed to face this world by myself without you here to help me? _You're leaving me, and I'm so damn scared of what's going to happen!"_


	52. Letting Go

"Mokuba." Seto spoke his name the way he might try to soothe a frightened animal, uncertain as hell and just as tormented as to

how to even begin to stop his little brother's tears. "_Mokuba, I-"_

"_Don't."_ It was a harshly barked command, hissed out between Mokuba's shuddering attempt to stop sobbing. Unabashed, Mokuba

scrubbed the wet from his eyes, yanked the drape of dark bangs away from his eyes and whispered, "_Don't,_ Seto. Don't tie yourself into

these useless knots of figuring out what to say. Stop trying to dictate how I _should _be responding, or what you _should _do. Big brother, one of

the greatest gifts you ever gave me was just letting me feel what I feel and think what I think without knowing the reasons, or having to have

a back-up plan on how to handle it. Seto, just let me cry, alright? Let me get my head on straight.._please."_

Seto's hand clutched at Mokuba's own, as his azure eyes narrowed, troubled and brimming over with some dark emotion that brought forth

tears, though they did not fall. Seto was silent for a long moment, before he whispered, "Little brother, your head is on straight. Mokuba, you..

damn it, Mokuba, don't you understand that there's not a right or a wrong way to handle any of this, any more? Do you honestly believe that I

have some sort of inborn knowledge that the Almighty has given me to know the proper way to behave? Do you truly think that I have any idea

beyond learning and adjusting and praying as I go that I'm not just stumbling through this damn thing like everybody else?" Seto sighed, bitterly,

as he shook his head, taking a brief refuge in his oversized coat, begrudgingly handed Mokuba back the car keys.

"Mokuba? I know how hard it is for _me_, to be dying. I can't even begin to fathom how hard and cruel it is on you to have to deal with my pissy moods,

failing health, and the only certainty I can give you is the fact that one day...not too far from now...I won't be here. You have never admitted it aloud,

Mokuba, but I know you feel a lot of guilt over how much I supposedly sacrificed to give you a childhood that I never had. Little brother, I never, never

want your life so wrapped up in any of this that when mine is over with, you have nothing left. Mokuba...I want you to promise me, here and now..."

Seto clenched Mokuba's hands in his own, his azure eyes searing and his mouth pulled into a grim line. "Whatever the hell happens, Mokuba...I want

you to _live._ Screw spending the rest of your life moping about my loss. If that's how you'll be carrying after I'm not here...it might as well be you be thrown

into the casket and shoved into the ground, because that's not life. And, life, regardless of the difficulties, is far too temporary to squander. I wish I had

learned that before this...debacle started, but, better late than never at all." Seto finished, softly, as he hitched his shoulders into a small shrug, as Mokuba

only stared at him, wide-eyed, and trembling. "I promise, Seto."

Seto gave him a sad and knowing smile. "Allow me to express my thoughts on one more thing, please. I don't want you to be haunted, or imprisoned

by anything of the past. I want you to live happy. I want you to have all this world and this life has to offer you, and I want you to be free from anything that

holds you back...including any twisted sense of obligation that you may feel towards me."

Mokuba tilted his head to the side, warily as Seto sighed, bitterly. "Please don't insult my intelligence or your integrity by pretending to be oblivious to how

well I know you, Mokuba. You and I have been through hell and back, and I know you too well for you to even try to hide the fact that you feel overwhelming

guilt for the fact that you can't do much to save me now. I know that Gozaburo worked his own warped bullshit into your head, but...you saved me, Mokuba.

You kept me from becoming the _thing_ that Gozaburo tried to force me to be. You kept alive that last shred of humanity he didn't take, that this life didn't take,

and I...I can't repay you for that, Mokuba. If not for you..."Seto's voice trailed off, as he shivered. "Mokuba, it was worth it. _You_ are worth it."

"Seto?" Mokuba spoke his name, concerned as Seto clenched his fists in his lap and shook off whatever thought was dark enough to leave him speechless.

"It's...nothing, Mokuba. Just know...that I love you, and that won't change, regardless of if I'm here, or in heaven. Deal?" Seto held out his hand, smirking at the

old habit. When Mokuba was a child, nothing amused him more, or got his cooperation quicker than his brother shaking his hand like he was a business partner sealing a deal. Mokuba shook his head with a chuckle. "Deal."

The long silence was abruptly broken by Seto's yawn, and slump as he tossed Mokuba the keys, and belted himself into the seat. "Mokuba, if you would please be so kind...I've really had my limit of excitment for the night, and I don't want to do anything else but go home and sleep."

Later that night, Seto lay exhausted and sleepless, curled in the twisted cloud-blue sheets and somewhat tucked beneith the huge indigo quilt. Shivering in the aftermath of the nightmare, Seto growled at the alarm clock, and rolled over from his side to his back, trying to find a more comfortable position. Running a hand over his mussed hair and throbbing forehead, Seto allowed himself to flop back onto the mattress and winced when the migraine only ached more. Sighing in irritation, Seto finally rose from the bed,slowly, knowing that he would not get any more sleep tonight. He draped and belted his robe over his pajamas, and slid his feet into slippers. He was too tense to even attempt to sleep, and his bed held no charm tonight as he folded his arms against the chill. He hated nights like this, nights where he had no refuge from the aching fatigue and the futile, dark thoughts that always seemed to emerge in so many cruel ways the destractions of the day could not allow...

Seto eased his torpid, long limbs into the overstuffed chair after flicking on the mechanism that would start the slow burn in the fireplace. It was a soothing, cheery sight in the dark room, and Seto didn't give a shit how odd it would be for him to have a fire at this season.

His eyes lifted upward to the mantle, the flames glinting off the glass of the several prominent pictures displayed up there. Normally, Seto never gazed at them for long, only considering their presence when he felt the need to punish himself...or remember. Seto's eyes unwillingly slid to the mantle, lingered on the large, non-descripte ebony frame.

Seto put a slender palm against the glass, his lips curling in bittersweet rememberance.

_Power. It was a means to an end, a thing to savor, and use, and keep. But never a thing to chase, or an idol to worship. Power had corrupted Seto's own adopted father, and in the end, almost broke Seto as well. Sighing, Seto buried his shaking hands into the folds of his trench coat, grateful that the sleeves were long enough to conceal his tormented fidgeting. Were Gozaburo here, the old man would have not hesitated to beat the mad impulse to gnaw his nails out of Seto._

_Heaving a sigh of relief, Seto tried...and failed, once again, to force his mind to accept the fact that since his "father" was gracious enough to rid the world of his hellish presence, Seto no longer answered to him. Life had improved quite a bit in the brief interlude of transition from Gozaburo's harsh rule as dictator and creator of weapons to the much more benign and profitable games and card market._

_Despite Seto's icy demeanor, and rather short, irrate barking at a few of his more incompetent employees...Seto had risen to power with the grace and fire of a dragon taking to the sky.Gozaburo had ruled his company with fear, and not so veiled threats, so Seto found that his workforce was one of cowering, cringing_

_ass-kissers that disgusted him to no end. Combined with the rumors that Seto had something to do with Gozaburo's sudden death, and the fact that he was so young made Seto wary of others to the point of cruelty. His trust in humanity had been shaky at best, but after years of mistreatment, and being forced to _

_accept the substandard, he refused to do anything besides what the hell he felt like doing. Seto had quickly established the reputation as being a tough boss who_

_did not take shit or excuses from anybody, but he was fair, and well-respected. It had been the first month as CEO of the bloated company, and Seto had spent most of it tearing down the garbage from Gozaburo's reign, and re-directing KaibaCorps to its highest peak. And it was in Seto's capable hands that Gozaburo's ghost finally was laid to rest from the forgiving memory of the world._

_The world, _Seto mused,_ as his hands traced the picture abscently. This was how I appeared to the world, once. _

_The picture. It was the first magazine cover he had graced, a young dragon that had overthrown the old veteran, and was now rapidly soaring to undreamed of heights. Seto's cobalt eyes were narrowed and coldly glittering with a smug, knowing arrogance that radiated dark promise and a taste for the finer things as he_

_stood, his back staight as a line, and arms placed firmly on his hips. His jacket flaired out smartly, the real silver buckles glinting off the camera's flash as Seto_

_smirked, tilted his head so that he could give the first of so many forbidding glares that would one day become his trademark. Seto had only paused for a brief moment to snarl at the camera, before he turned in a swirl of trench coat and rude disregard as he hiked up the steps to his building and left the reporters and cameras to take their chances with the security._

_Seto's palm slid down the glass, farther down to languish in his lap as he bowed his head to stare at his body, as a tear welled up and fell down his cheek without_

_him attempting to wipe it away. Then, he had eyes that could glass and hearts with a single glare, and intimidate so many into submission as he waltzed neatly through the corporate life of his comany with no isues. Now? He was hunched with pain, withered and spent like an old man, his pale veins almost glittering beneathi _

_the white skin. His once graceful walk had turned into a crawling lurch or the necessity of a wheel chair when he was too tired to move. _

_A/N To be continued as soon as possible, I promise._


	53. Moments In Time

Without hesitating, Seto suddenly balled his hands into resolute fists that clutched the gilted frame. Snarling, he

heaved it high, and let it go, watching indifferently as the glass fragmented when it collided to the floor, and the

shimmering tinkle of breaking filled the room. But, it wasn't enough. Seto swept an arm over the mantle, swept

off the majestic display of his business accomplishments, in so many neat little moments he knew he would never have

again in this life. He wasn't sure what was worse, the lingering realization of another piece of his existance gone, or how

little it mattered now. Seto arched his arm, and flung it wide, swept all the pictures into one heap and sent them spilling

into the floor. The crash of the glass was oddly cleansing as he only sat back, quietly, the glittering crystal

bending the light into odd little rainbows as the sunlight bounced through the room.

_I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I just dumped 15 years worth of business accomplishments on the floor_

_as if it were meaningless trash, and I feel...almost liberated, though it hurts so much to come to the end of such a_

_career..such a piece of me. I never, never envisioned the ending like this. I always assumed that I would one day_

_work myself into an early grave, flop over dead at my retirement party sipping a cocktail after at least a few more decades._

_I always assumed that I would at least have the luxury of growing old before I even had to think about exiting this life._

_So many petty assumptions that had- have no basis in reality, yet, I believed it all because I couldn't navigate through_

_life without some sort of truth, regardless of the validity of it. _

Sighing, Seto sat back in the silence, numb and wondering why he didn't start weeping. He smirked at the thought of

what Gozaburo would have thought of him, and shrugged off the dark musing. It was pointless now to revisit old pain.

_I spent a lifetime doing this. _ The years had passed by, flowing down on him as unnoticed as a droplet might be in an ocean.

_A lifetime. Now reduced to nothing at all but fodder for the papers, and enough income to keep Mokuba and a few thousand of _

_his descendents from having to work for a few centuries. A lifetime that I never even bothered to question if I wanted it._

The sharp pain of that realization hurt as it clenched somewhere inside.

Did he waste his time? Would he have done something else with his years? Seto wearily pondered the answers, twisting his

thoughts into their own vague knots, drummed his fingers in aggitation, and grunted them away. Scowling at the mess he made,

Seto debated if he should call one of the house maids to clean up the broken things. As lavish an existance as most assumed he

lived, Seto was suprisingly self-sufficient and insisted on being left alone to clean up anything he sullied. Responsibiility was a

running theme, regardless of it was dirty dishes or promises to a brother. Seto fumbled with the wheels, propelled himself to the trash can,

and tipped it over with a toe. It was empty with a fresh liner. Seto only intended to lower himself to the floor beside the mess so he could

scoop it up. What he didn't intend was the slide to the floor directly into a particularly sharp shard that suddenly bit through his splayed

palm like fire and spouted an ominous scarlet puddle on the floor. Seto hissed, yanked his palm up, and winced to see the large, sharp

piece of glass embedded in the fleshy part of his hand. Grimacing, he gripped the piece of glass, and then yanked it out in one clean,

anguishing moment. The blood burbled up, and Seto staunched it by tying one of his old hankerchiefs to it. The cut was large, but not deep,

or that painful, and he was grateful that it would not require stitches, for as much as it hurt when it first happened. It slowly stopped, as

Seto watched the red seep over the white, the golden embossed stitching of his initials slowly being soaked in his blood.

Seto shivered, his shaking fingers seeking the locket at his neck as he opened the clasp and stared down at Mokuba's face for a long,

painful moment, swallowed back the tears. He brushed a thumb over the gold, shut it, buried it back beneith the layers of his clothing, returning

it to where it hung back over his heart. The room was silent except for his small, sighing sob.

A few moments later, Seto was not at all suprised to hear the loud bang of Mokuba's bootheels as his little brother halted at the door, and

called his name. Seto stared at the mess on the floor, sighed, wearily. This wasn't getting any easier. Softly, he answered Mokuba.

"Come in. I need your help with something, and your promise you won't get pissy with me for it, please?"

Mokuba scowled at the other side of the door, uneasily. Seto almost never asked for that sort of thing unless he was doing something

that he knew Mokuba would hate. Gritting his teeth, Mokuba opened the door. "Seto, what did you do that I'd-"

The words died on his lips when he saw the shattered glass, and his brother sitting inches away from it. "Seto?! Are you alright?"

Dark eyes darted fearfully from the makeshift bandage over his hand, to the tense, anguished wet left behind in Seto's eyes.

Seto had been crying. The realization hit like a slug to his stomache as Mokuba, as Seto mutely waved a hand over the

pile of paper and glass.

"Mokuba, I want these things burned. If you have anything in this pile of sh-- that is worth salvaging, please get it now. Otherwise, I'm planning

to torch it all."

Mokuba's mouth and eyes opened wide as he slid to his knees beside Seto. "Seto, what happened to your hand? And why-"

Seto waved the questions away, with a hand flung high and dismissing, before he narrowed his eyes at Mokuba. His voice was low and hard as he

forced himself to answer, "I cut my hand when I was shoving all of these things into the pile. Never mind the why of any of this, Mokuba. I just want to

get rid of something _tangible._"

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. "And burning pictures and certificates are going to do this, Seto? " Seto's eyes hardened, and in the wafting light of the fading

son, Mokuba shivered at how much he resembled Gozaburo for a moment.

"No. It won't." Seto's voice was soft and sad. "But, it will help _me._ Mokuba, did you ever stop to look at these pictures? Did you ever really _see them?"_

Mokuba shook his head, shrugged. "Seto, if you want to burn them, fine. I'll get a match, you know that. They're just pictures of your business accomplishments,

right? I don't get what you're trying to tell me, Seto."

"Oh." It was a dark sound from Seto's lips, laced with bitterness, as he suddenly snatched a shattered frame, pried the glass away from the picture and slid it free.

"You've never seen this before, then?" Mokuba stared, confused. The picture itself was benign enough. It showed Seto a couple of years ago, looking fierce and

untouchable as a god in the gleaming shadow of KaibaCorp's head quarters behind him. Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. It was a high quality photo, done by Seto's personal photographer, of when Seto had introduced a particularly sucessful new dueling modification to the already wildly successful new addition of the duel cards.

Seto's glare was cold and triumphant, complete with his cocky, cruel smirk.

Seto's hands were on his own, gently turning the picture's frame over in Mokuba's hands, then sliding the unseen photo out from the back of the frame.

"Look again." Seto almost snarled, as he shoved the new photo into Mokuba's fingers. Mokuba frowned, concerned at his brother's anger as Seto jerked away

and locked eyes with the wall facing away from them.

It hit him like a punch to the gut to see the brittle, unwavering eyes of Gozaburo Kaiba glaring up at him from the snapshot. His adopted father's steel-colored eyes

were burning, infused with that harsh will, lips drawn into a smile that looked as if it were hacked by a knife. Gozaburo was standing next to Seto on the steps of

Kaiba Corp, his hair impecable, and even his suit pressed to perfect creases. A casual, owning hand was draped over Seto's bent shoulder, manicured nails gripping the narrow shoulder so hard Mokuba could see the finger tips sunk deep into Seto's. The thick, golden ring gleamed on his finger like a star. Seto was slumped, and rigid, his eyes wide with pain and fear, his mouth curled up in a forced, wavering smile that bordered on collapsing into tears. The suit he wore was large and hung from his lanky frame. From an ordinary eye, it only looked like a passing moment of a proud father and son, but Mokuba knew Seto far too well to have that sweet little delusion.

"I can see why you would want to burn _this_ one, Seto. But all of the rest?" Seto only gave him a brittle jerk of head in affirmation. "Look at a few more, Mokuba. See for yourself if any are worth keeping."

Mokuba slid out another photo that nearly made him cry. It was taken only a week after the Kaiba brothers had arrived at the grand mansion, before the true horror of their situation was really known to either one of them. Mokuba stood at the steps, offering a gap-toothed grin, the mop of black hair and the black sparkling eyes

staring up at his beloved big brother. Seto had one arm curled protectively over his brother's back, the genuinely happy smile lighting his eyes. Gozaburo stood behind the two of them, both arms draped over their shoulders in a paternal gesture, his mouth set into a fatherly show of concern for his two new sons. It was the only picture that Mokuba ever remembered them even looking like a family.

Seto abruptly snatched the photo away, stared at it coldly for a long, considering moment. With a snarl, he ripped it until it was nothing but bits of color that he

tossed into the trash can. At Mokuba's small grunt of protest, Seto only shook his head, shoved photos into each groping hand. "Damn it, Mokuba, you know now it was all a lie. Hell, the bastard couldn't even wait a week before giving me my first bruise. It was nothing more than a dog and pony show, even then. You were probably too young to remember, but that photo was taken as a publicity stunt. Gozaburo was using us to maintain the reputation that he was nothing more than a benevolent, _loving father._ That photo showed up in the Domino City Times, Mokuba. I remember that you thought it was spectacular that you and your big brother had our pictures in the paper. "Oh."

Seto gave him a sad smirk. "Now, look at these two, Mokuba. Tell me what you see." Mokuba obediently stared at the pictures, and his heart twisted at the sick resemblance. One photo showed Gozaburo with his eyes chilled and triumphant as he lovingly held aloft the bright weapon his company had concocted. Mokuba knew that KaibaCorps, before switching completely to the much more benign cards and gaming, was a leading producer of war machines. Mokuba shuddered to think of how much blood had been spilled on Gozaburo's account. Seto, being old enough to understand, had actually asked. Gozaburo had merely smirked,

scribbled out a figure on a piece of paper, and passed it to Seto. Seto had paled, clapped a hand to his mouth in horror. Mokuba never did figure out how high the

tally was, and Seto only offered a few dark hints that the number was "grotesquely cruel," and "sickening."

Seto poked the other picture with his finger, impatiently. "Now, look at this one, Mokuba. Tell me if you see anything striking." Mokuba looked at the second one.

It was of Seto, shortly after Gozaburo's death, and only days after he had soared to the phoenix heights as KaibaCorp's newest CEO. Seto was clad in his characteristic trench coat, his arms crossed and his mouth set in an irritated, uncompromising line as he stood tall and proud behind the podium. It was his first official appearance as CEO, and he was announcing the new direction of KaibaCorps to the world. Mokuba chewed the inside of his cheek, uncertainly, as Seto

only held a hand out for both of the pictures. They were promptly ripped to pieces as Seto flung them into the waiting trash can.

"Seto? I'm sorry, I don't get this. Any of this. Why are you wanting to trash all of this?" Mokuba asked, softly. "I'm not going to stop you, big brother. I just want to understand."

Seto only sighed, wearily. "Because it's worthless, and it only reminds me of things best left forgotten, Mokuba. Believe me, Mokuba. It may be ludicrious to you, and I understand if you don't...get it. But, to me, it's nothing less than a long overdue purging."

Author's Note...Seto/Gozaburo flashback. Angsty, but not bloody, or anything.

_Moments. Fragments. Pieces of a life abruptly severed and then...gone. It had been a week after Gozaburo's death,and Seto sat in the massive sitting room, staring at the flames in the fire place and musing, rather darkly. The funeral had taken place without any more ceremony than decency required, and Seto had not been back to the grave site since. The most perplexing, and pressing concern on his mind at the moment was what exactly to do with the various things...tangible things that Gozaburo owned. The emotional aftermath and the pain, Seto flinched away from at the moment. He had more than enough daunting things to keep his mind suitibly distracted from the miserable questions left behind. _

_He grimaced at all the pictures that were still residing proudly on the mantle. Gozaburo's bloated ego and elegant tastes demanded no less than a picture show of himself sitting on the mantle, his characteristic smirk and perfectly maintained style glowering out from the frames. Seto stared at the pictures with loathing, wishing for the nerve to simply haul an arm over the mantle and bring the hated things crashing to the floor...much like his father did. Seto shuddered at the cold comparision, winced at the sharp guilt that suddenly took hold. It was a tasteless joke that only Gozaburo would find amusing. Seto found it disgusting and heartless. And Seto would be damned if he ever took that path._


	54. All That Was Lost

Author's Note...Seto/Gozaburo flashback. Angsty, but not bloody, or anything.  
Moments. Fragments. Pieces of a life abruptly severed and then...gone. It had been a week after Gozaburo's death,and Seto sat in the massive sitting room, staring at the flames in the fire place and musing, rather darkly. The funeral had taken place without any more ceremony than decency required, and Seto had not been back to the grave site since. The most perplexing, and pressing concern on his mind at the moment was what exactly to do with the various things...tangible things that Gozaburo owned. The emotional aftermath and the pain, Seto flinched away from at the moment. He had more than enough daunting things to keep his mind suitibly distracted from the miserable questions left behind.

He grimaced at all the pictures that were still residing proudly on the mantle. Gozaburo's bloated ego and elegant tastes demanded no less than a picture show of himself sitting on the mantle, his characteristic smirk and perfectly maintained style glowering out from the frames. Seto stared at the pictures with loathing, wishing for the nerve to simply haul an arm over the mantle and bring the hated things crashing to the floor...much like his father did. Seto shuddered at the cold comparision, winced at the sharp guilt that suddenly took hold. It was a tasteless joke that only Gozaburo would find amusing. Seto found it disgusting and heartless. He wondered briefly, if he was heartless for being so...detached from Gozaburo's demise, before shrugging the useless thought aside. False sentiment, and guilt out of obligation were worthless. Seto stared around the room with hatred, the bloated opulance and the memories making him want to vomit. Though the room was elegant, and sparce, and richly furnished, Seto wanted to do nothing more than burn it down. The walls were dark scarlet, swirled with golden accent subtly woven into the wall paper, the furniture a polished ebony, the desk a gleaming mahogany, and the office chair, gleaming dark leather. And, sitting beside that vast expanse of desk, sat the smaller desk and the rigid chair where Seto had spent so many tortured hours in pursuit of his step-father's mad dreams.

Seto felt the tears rising as he lay a hand on the wood, seeing himself as a child hunched over, and strained as Smitherton towered over him, silent and menacing with his cane smacking his palm, threatening. His spine ached from just recalling that. Seto wondered, idly if the scars across his back would ever fade. It didn't matter now, anyway. It was over with, and he was free.

He wondered, for a moment, though, if he could ever convince his heart that he never had to bow a knee to Gozaburo's sadism again. He wondered if he could ever convince himself that he didn't have to carry the cage around with him, that not everything forbidden was evil. His dark musings were interupted by the door being flung open, and Mokuba merrily toddled in, giving his brother a huge grin, as he launched himself into Seto's lap with a laugh. "Big brother!"

Seto yelped as he toppled over to his back, smacking the wood with a loud pop, and lay there, sprawled and stunned across the wooden floor. Mokuba had landed on his stomach with both knees, and bounced with a happy giggle. Seto grunted in pain, hastily scooped Mokuba off his stomache and caught his breath before he forced himself off the floor. He dismissed Mokuba's questioning glance of concern with a casual ruffle of Mokuba's dark mane, as Seto knelt so Mokuba could look into his eyes. "Mokuba. What is it?"

Mokuba's joy had abruptly halted, as his huge eyes narrowed, and he peered up at Seto with far too much awareness for somebody so young. "This room makes you sad." He said, quietly. "Is it because so many bad things happened in here?" The painful question was left unanswered, as Seto could only gape, and swallow, and then try to soothe away the violated inocent with another sugar-coated lie. "Mokuba...what makes you think that bad things happened in here?"

Mokuba scowled up at him. "Because you always looked sad when you came out, and I heard you cryin' a lot. Did somebody hurt you, big brother?"

Seto's hand halted in its wake, as his fingers curled instinctively against Mokuba's back, until the knuckles and the white line of pain that appeared across his forehead almost burned from the strain, as he struggled to answer without tears, "There were...some bad things that happened in here, Mokuba. But, those bad things made me stronger, so I can take care of you. Those bad things aren't so bad now that they're over. Do you understand, Mokuba?"

Mokuba gave him a bright, winsome, toothy smile of trust, and nodded. Seto smiled fondly, gave his younger brother a gentle shove towards the door, knowing just how to distract the younger Kaiba from the dark things he just didn't need to know about yet. "Mokuba, are you getting hungry?" Seto watched as Mokuba eagerly nodded, and started the excited dash towards the door with the unspoken promise of food.

Seto forced a grin, a bright, out of character chuckle that sounded more like a choke. "Alright, alright. Go downstairs, and give me a bit, okay? I have...some unfinished tasks here to take care of, then we'll go." At seeing Mokuba's smile droop to a pout, Seto wagged a finger. "Mokuba, none of that, please. I won't be long, I promise. Now, why don't you go watch some cartoons and think where you want to go, alright?"

Mokuba eagerly wagged his head in agreement, then flew down the stairs, every bit the uncaged bird that Seto had fought to protect, and loved with every shred of whatever heart had survived life so far.

Wearily, Seto allowed himself the rare indulgence to slump into the luxurious chair, let the leather support his bent spine, let the chair keep him from falling to the floor, while he wondered for a horrific moment if he was falling apart himself. Doubt gnawed away with its bitter teeth, fear and uncertainty were waiting for him again, as he stared out at the vast, pristine expanse of the emerald velvet of Gozaburo's perfectly groomed grounds. He raised his eyes to the bright sun that was shimmering a golden arc across the floor, and danced lightly against the French window, and its balcony. Seto shivered inwardly, feeling very small, and very afraid of the vast power and potential that had suddenly been dropped into his lap. Earlier that day, he had recieved the official notice from the cowering business group that he was now CEO of KaibaCorps. Seto had grit his teeth at the news. He was only eighteen, and already saddled with a destiny and a responsibility that he was truly terrified of taking on. He had also gotten the good news that he had been named the official guardian of Mokuba, and was awarded sole custody.

It was bittersweet. Seto was glad that Mokuba's future was secured, or at least as best as he could anticipate for now. Seto held little regard for the future, considered it to be a battle, in whatever form it may come, mentally shored up every last shred of defense and cunning to prepare a good, solid wall of protection for Mokuba.

Seto was startled out of his musings with the bang of the door as Mokuba stood uncertainly, his small hands cradling whatever it was he had dragged into the room.  
"Seto?" Mokuba's voice was quiet, as he stared up at his older brother, the empathy and love shimmering in their dark depths. Seto gazed at them, transfixed for a moment. Gozaburo's eyes were a deep obsidian, but a cruel, endless abyss. Mokuba's eyes held a light and an untainted joy that Seto cherished, though his eyes were the deepest shade of black as well.

"Yes, Mokuba? What is it now?" Mokuba faltered, as he glared up at the pictures of Gozaburo, and said, with that childish lisp, the truth that cut Seto to the heart, "Those picures make you sad, because Gozaburo was a bad man. Seto, why don't you put up a picture of a happy time? Then you wouldn't be so sad!"

Mokuba grinned, and held out the hastily wrapped object out, as Seto raised an eyebrow, and carefully undid the paper, expecting either another drawing of a dragon, or some other childish treasure.

Seto's hands started shaking when the large, flat thing was revealed, and he set it on the desk, afraid that his treacherous trembling would let it fall to the floor, and break. Handling it as if it were a holy relic, Seto carefully set the worn wooden frame on the desk. It was a humble, mahogony stained frame, lovingly kept safe.

"Oh, Mokuba...how-" Seto couldn't speak from the sudden tidal wave of grief and memories and love that made his eyes flood over, and roll down his cheeks.

The picture that Mokuba has salvaged was the last photo of Seto and Mokuba with their mom and dad, just two days before the accident.

Their father was beaming at the camera, one strong arm draped proudly over Seto's shoulder, and the other one protectively cradling Mokuba in his lap. Mom was sitting next to him, drawing Seto into a loving embrace, as she was leaning over her husband. It was obvious from the picture how much Mom and Dad loved both of their sons, and from the inocent, breath-takingly cute smile from the young Seto, he knew it then.

Their parents. Seto rarely let his thoughts drift back to the memories of how much love and warmth he had known once. It just hurt too much, now, the ache of never having his mother to soothe away the nightmares, or his father's gentle reassurance that he was going to be alright, that he was proud of him. Both of the younger Kaibas resembled their parents. Mr. Kaiba was tall and slender, almost willowy, with a thatch of dark hair. His features were regal, and stern, but he had such a bright laughter, and an ever present smile, that he rarely looked angry unless something warrented it. It was from him that Mokuba had inherited his easy-going, sweet nature and those storm-dark eyes. Mrs. Kaiba was a striking woman, with her black hair casually laced back in a bun and her searing blue eyes glimmering with pride as she stared at her sons. She was a comtemplative, deep woman, quiet, and gentle, and always knowing just when Seto needed an extra hug, or a smile to get over his insecurities. It was from her that Seto had gotten those blue eyes.

Mokuba stared up at Seto, watching in dismay as Seto's tears slowly trickled down, and Seto put a shaking palm to the glass. "Seto? Did I do something wrong?  
I didn't mean to make you cry, I'm sorry!"

Seto just shook his head, gathered Mokuba in his arms, with a nearly strangled, sob-riddled chuckle. "How many times have I told you, Mokuba? No matter what the hell Gozaburo may have told you, tears aren't anything to be ashamed of, or to apologize for." And Seto wiped them away, tried to stop the hitching wail that threatened to disturb Mokuba even more. Mokuba, unfortunately, was far too young to truly remember how their parents were, other than that he was loved. Whenever Seto had worked up the nerve to see how much Mokuba recalled them, the only thing that Mokuba had volunteered was that they were "nice, and made him feel safe. I remember Mommy smiling a lot. Dad was tall."

"Mokuba...listen to me. I promised you once that I would always protect you, and that I would always be there for you. I know that I can't ever replace Mom and Dad, and I haven't tried. But they would be so proud of you."

Mokuba stared up at Seto, in wonder. "Thanks, big brother. I just wish I could remember them more." Seto only shook his head. "They loved us. If you can remember that, Mokuba, that's all you really need to know." 


	55. This Mortal Waiting

With reverence, Seto held the picture of the intact Kaiba family--as it should have been, as it would be again one day, allowing the

cleansing tears to slowly sear their way past the deeper hurts in his heart. He hadn't wept for all that he had lost in God knew

how long. He felt broken from the grief, sated from the knowledge that he would be seeing them again soon, shattered that

Mokuba would be left behind. He shuddered at the thought of his younger sibling visiting the three tombstones, alone, and

cringed as his heart clenched. And, so, in the silent,dark office, under the vancant eyes of the pictures, Seto wept.

He buried his head in his hands, allowed himself to slide to his knees, curled into a ball and just cried until he was nearly

choking and there was nothing left but the echoing emptiness where the pain once was, and the odd relief that came from

releasing what he had choked back and restrained for so long. Seto didn't know if his sobbing took a few moments, or a few hours, and

it mattered little when he was finished. He felt oddly...cleansed, liberated.

It left him shaking and exhausted, and he only wiped his eyes on one of his many silk hankerchiefs. Sighing, he flung the

sodden thing into the trash can, and glared at the outside world, to see the sky turning ebony, and the bright stars soaring high

on the balcony. How long had he lay there on the floor and bawled like a baby? How much time had he wasted sobbing for all the things

that he couldn't change, or bring back? And how many more good-byes would he have to endure before it was all over with?  
Seto grimaced at the chill in the room, grunted as he forced himself to his quaking legs, and slowly manuveered himself upright.

Wearily, he clung to the couch, slowly lurched his way to the cushions, pausing a bit by the mantle to steady himself, and fight

the trembling urge to collapse. He slammed a palm to the button that triggered the fireplace. Soon, the room was filled with the cheery

flicker of the warming flames at the stone hearth. It added a bit of bright life to the austere room, made the lingering aftermath of

the grief a bit less hard to bear. Seto carefully side-stepped the mess he had made of the broken glass, and with a smirk, allowed himself

the luxury of a careful flop into the engulfing cushions of the overstuffed chair. Seto shifted a little to make himself more comfortable, then

covered his long, aching legs with the soft velour blanket he kept neatly folded by the table for such a purpose. It had been a gift from

Mokuba, that Seto had accepted relunctantly, never knowing how damn good it would feel when his failing body was now so much

more prone to being cold. Mokuba had been mildly amused to see Seto swathing himself in multiple layers of clothing before his illness.

It was a source of many barbed insults to see Seto fully suited up with his characteristic trench coat in the sweltering heat of summer, and

never break a sweat. It only reinforced the widely held view that he was truly made of ice. It wasn't quite so amusing to see the billionaire

looking so human as he cacooned himself into the folds and allowed himself to slump and shiver. There was little he wanted more at the moment

than just to muse and wait for the fire's warmth to fight off the chill.

It was just another reminder of his time slipping away. If it wasn't the dull ache that seemed to never leave, that would be agony if it weren't

for the morphine pump, it was the fatigue that left him dozing like an old man at the oddest hours, or just the general feeling of his torpid

body being used up and consumed by the grind of time. It was saying good-bye, being convinced that maybe he had finally hit some stability

and feeling the solid ground being yanked from under his feet again. It was continual acceptance and adjustment, and allowing himself

to be a bit more human, and a bit less the dragon. Seto's inner strength was still something to contend with, but he had much less a need

to do battle with the world now that he had retired, and felt less a compulsion to snarl just for the hell of it.

It was an odd surrender, and a hard fight, aching, bittersweet moments that he tried to fill with sigificance with the constant torment of it

'being the last time,' contrasting with the more honest times that he could permit himself to admit that he was ready for the waiting and

the suffering to be over with.

Scowling, Seto reached for the journal he had sporatically kept. At some moments, it was nothing more than an irritation, and other times...

the things he felt and the words he did not know would simply hemmorage into the pages, and his scribbling left him feeling oddly better.

Seto tucked the leather book into his lap, penned the date and time in his elegantly swirled lettering.

_Such bitter thoughts are mine tonight, rather morose and musing, rather than my usual sarcasm. Memories can paint a painful_

_mirror of who...or what I used to be, and I find myself wrestling with things that never would have been an issue if I was allowed_

_the luxury of being the shallow asshole I used to be. Thank God that He forgives, and allowed me to forgive myself. It's not easy_

_to be haunted by all the things I can't undo. One odd thing about facing my own mortality...is the fact that it's changing me,_

_even as it kills me, shapes me into something, or somebody I never thought I would be otherwise. It's rather hard for me to be impatient_

_with something that's petty and dumb when I have the stark reminder that I won't be around much longer to get pissed off. It's just a damn shame that _

_I'm finally garnering some of this insight when my time is almost over with. Gozaburo did a grand job in_

_twisting me, but as much as I hate that man...he is not responsible for what I allowed myself to become. If there's one major_

_tribute I could pay to that monster...at least he set the shining example of all the things I will never let myself become now._

_Even if it costs me whatever I have left, for myself, and Mokuba, and even Yami...I won't go down that path again. _

_I owe them that much. My brother has always loved me unconditionally, he's the only person that has ever, ever accepted me_

_for me and never once demanded that I live up to anything, or be anything other than me. How could I not want to protect something_

_that precious? How could it not break my heart to leave him?_

Seto did not stop the tear suddenly welling up,as he hunched and continued to write...

_Oh, God, I don't know if I can face much more of this. I know that You're supposed to be there for people as they walk their_

_last miles away from this earth, and I fear that moment,too...not because of the Heaven afterwards, but the transition of_

_flesh to spirit, of soul finally breaking away from the body. That...scares me. Breathing my last, the letting go...leaving all _

_that I know. What exactly is that going to be like? Angels flying me home, a bright light at the end of the tunnel, or_

_will I just be dumped straight to Your throne? Truth be told, God, I'm almost ready to leave this world. I'm tired, and I'm_

_hurting, and it's getting harder and harder to do this. I know it's coming closer, I can feel it. A sort of expectancy, maybe some_

_odd waiting...a strange peace when I was once so afraid. One of those brain pickers from the hospice, who was assigned to _

_help me deal with 'my issues,' told me that it was widely accepted that a dying man went through emotional phases, that _

_my feelings and sense and rationality might fail me, and all my defenses would fall. That some days, I would be alright, and _

_some days, or even hours later, I may be screaming at the sky demanding an answer, or crying like a child. I think I've bawled more_

_in the last eight months that I've been sick than I have in the previous thirty-three. What she never told me was that I would eventually_

_reach the point when I was finally alright with that. So now? I guess I've reached the last step...acceptance. Acceptance of all my flaws_

_being forgiven, of reconciling myself with a life that I can't live any more, verses the very real, deep moments that I wouldn't take back,_

_now, even if it meant that I was allowed to live normally. It was worth all this to discover that._


	56. Of Heaven's Shadow

The bright sky was soaring over their heads, bloated to bursting with stars, as Yami gazed up at them, in silent rapture. Seto's eyes, as of late, seemed to be taking on the depths of the heavens themselves. Yami gave him a troubled glance at the harsh effort breathing seemed to take him, hid the concerned frown behind a hasty sip of his tea. Seto tore his eyes away from the bueaty of the stars, and turned to Yami, with a wry, sad smile. "You know...'' he said, softly, "I've always wondered what those stars look like from ...up there. If they burn as bright when they're up close, or if they are just light. Despite all of the bland, scientific facts, I always thought that the stars were...deeper than that. And, soon, I'll finally know if I'm right."

Yami shook his head, turned to Seto, solemnly. ''I imagine that where you are going is going to be filled with so much more bueaty than just the stars, Seto. Imagine meeting the One who could concieve of such wonder."

Seto smirked at that. "Yes, I look forward to hearing the answers to all my questions. But..I think when I finally see eternity...I hope it doesn't matter any more. If the afterlife works the way I hear, and God is as good as the Book says...I'll be leaving a lot of bad things behind, too." Seto sighed deeply at the thought,  
looking troubled, as he folded his arms over his sweater and shivered. Yami frowned at Seto's action, and silently trotted back indoors. Seto stared at him in suprise when Yami came back with the velour blanket held out. Seto grunted irritably, waved it away, as Yami pointedly snapped, "You were shivering."

Seto sighed. "And you were staring enough to notice? I'm not falling down dead, yet, Yami."

Yami's scowl deepened as he turned away to the sky again. He shook his head, and softly spoke, "Seto, did the thought ever occur to you that maybe my getting you the blanket had everything to do with you being cold and very little to do with you dying? I can't imagine what it's like...to live with that knowledge, but haven't I been there for you enough...for you to finally realize that despite of everything...I still consider you to be Seto first and a dying man second?"

Yami turned to him, then, the shadows deepening his violet eyes, his face so white against the dark around him, and Seto blanched at the minute tears glistening before Yami mastered them with a languid blink.

Seto shrugged, put palms to his temples in a frustrated, helpless gesture. "Yami, damn it, I-" Seto swallowed hard, grit his teeth, ground out the words. "I'm sorry. I-'

Yami waved his hand in the air, turned away. "Seto, there's no need to apologize, I didn't mean to-"

"Yami." Seto spoke his word with every bit of authority and gravity that only a Kaiba could, and Yami only inhaled and closed his mouth, curiously. It was almost amusing to see the embarrassed flush of color rise to Seto's cheeks as he rolled his chair backwards and tiredly rubbed his temples, bowing his head. Closing his eyes, Yami heard Seto mutter, "Just give me a moment, I'm not good at this..." Drawing breath and strength, Seto shifted, clearly ill at ease. Yami tried not to snicker as Seto snatched the blanket. Seto draped it over his body with a huff and a forbidding shake of his head. Seto flung an irritated hand over to the chair, and Yami quirked an eyebrow, waiting.

Seto raised burning eyes to Yami, worked his mouth into an uneasy line, before he hesitantly spoke softly, "It was almost a year ago that I was given the news that I was terminally ill, Yami. For the past year, I've grappled with how to come to terms with my own demise, how to live life as I'm leaving it, figuring out what's worth it, and what isn't. And, through all of this, the only two people who have been there for me through all of this has been Mokuba...and you. You've seen me bitch, you've seen me sick, in tears, and you even saved my life. You gave me time to say good-bye to Mokuba, time that we wouldn't have had, otherwise. I know that 'thank-you' is woefully inadequate for everything you've done, and you deserve more than mere words. I still don't know why the hell you decided to stick with me through all of this, but I...am grateful. I didn't...want to leave here without you knowing that. You've been a friend."

Yami looked stunned at the admission, and he had to make an effort to close his dropped jaw when he saw Seto's cheeks flush and the embarrassed way his eyes flickered. Swallowing hard at the unwelcome tears, Yami turned to Seto, his voice raw, "You've become a friend through all of this, Seto. As for the reason why I decided to 'stick with you?' It's simple. Nobody deserves to go through something like this alone, especially not you. I believed it then, I've come to believe it more as time passes, and I see you as you really are, and not that facade you finally had the grace to let go of. That is what 'friends' do." Yami concluded with a shrug, awkwardly.

Seto chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, now. Isn't this a bittersweet moment from hell? All we need now is the hankies and the Hallmark cards, eh?" Yami shook his head with a bitter smirk and a snort of his own.  
"Blessed be the sarcastic ties that bind, Seto." The two fell into agreeable silence, as Yami took another sip from his tea, and Seto resumed his gaze to the heavens.

"I don't have much longer down here." Seto whispered, not looking away from the stars. Yami was grateful that Seto didn't see his eyes filling, as he softly answered, "I know."

Seto did not turn to face Yami, did a masterful job at concealing the trembling from his voice. Yami said nothing of the bowing head, the stiffening backbone under the crushing weight of the heavy words.

"I'm sorry, Seto." Yami felt the words were flimsy and rather stupid in the face of so much gravity, but Seto only gave him a forgiving shrug, and nodded. "So am I, Yami." 


	57. The End of All Things

Here is the final chapter of The End of All Things. I hope that it's a satisfying conclusion to all of you wonderful people who have supported me through the writing of this. God bless each and every one of you. Thanks.

It was a hard fight, every breath a battle, every day bought by suffering, moments and memories laced in tears for Mokuba. To see the valient fight against the inevidable was cruel, and Mokuba was no longer sure if it was a curse or a mercy that Seto had to endure those final weeks.

Seto maintained the tortured lingering with every fierce bit of Kaiba determination, the same will that had perservered nearly six months longer than the doctor's deadline. It was a fact that flattered his ego, even if its price was more pain, and fewer of the 'good days' where Seto felt well enough to resume somewhat of a normal life. Seto felt his days waxing as thin as moonlight over water, his body failing, his weight dropping even more, until his cheekbones were gaunt, hollowed out crags, and his face seemed to be mostly eyes. Seto had always been slender, but the cancer had reduced that sleek grace to skeletal remnants. Mercifully, Seto was mostly free of pain, due to the powerful concoction of pain-killers and the constant aide of the morphine pump. His increasing fight for air was eased by the portable oxygen canister he was able to wheel with him when he felt up to getting out of bed. At first, he hated the alien feel of the plastic rooted into his nostrils, but it became a necessity now. He coped with the drying out of his nostrils by lubricating them on a regular basis,and eventually got used to the sensation of the plastic tubing being looped over his cheeks and around his ears.

Gone, too, were any pretentions about his clothing, or maintaining the facade of being the elegant and untouchable monster he had taken pride in being so long ago. It had been viciously stripped from him, but Seto had reconciled himself to that surrender long before it was necessary. While he still ached for the old power, he was secretly relieved that he didn't have to bear any more of KaibaCorp's weight on his

narrowing shoulders. It would have been ludicrious to try, now. Where he once wore the famous trenchcoats and the commanding suits, Seto's wardrobe was now whatever the hell he felt like wearing. Mokuba had to choke back the snicker when Seto started wearing the flannel pajama pants, and the bulky sweaters, but almost cried when Seto only flinched in hurt, and stared up at him, whispering softly, "Mokuba, these are the only things that keep me warm and don't hurt me. Do you really think I give a damn about how hot I look now?"

Seto only blinked in the long silence, the hollows of his jutting cheekbones making the searing gaze of his eyes that much more profound.

Mokuba did not know what to say, so he only shook his head, contritely.Mokuba felt rightfully ashamed of himself when he saw Seto's cheeks flame, as he uneasily curled arms over his shrunken chest, as if to shield himself before he continued, relunctantly, "You know that it's spread to most of my internal organs. It just hurts like hell to have anything confining across my abdomen now." Seto shifted uncomfortably, grimaced as he moved wrong. Silently, Mokuba gently slid an arm behind Seto's spine, and raised him up, wedging the pillow behind him, and carefully lowering him back down. Seto sighed in relief, whispered, "Thank you. That helps." Mokuba only gave him a tired smile, held up the velour blanket that had fallen to the floor. "Do you need this?"

Seto smirked, nodded, as Mokuba carefully draped it over his knees, and then piled on the over-stuffed, cloud-soft quilt over Seto's wilted frame. Seto yanked it up to his chin, smirked in appreciation, and drifted off to sleep, Mokuba's reassuring hand still cupped gently over his shoulder.

It was a bitter, grey morning, with the wan rays of light casting sepia shadows over the glossed wooden floor of Seto's room, as Mokuba rose from his perch, and shook himself awake with a yawn.

He worked out the crick in his neck, and hastily stepped away to avoid disturing Seto's slumber.

It was the sudden, loud silence that Mokuba noticed first, as he lurched to Seto's side in a panic,

shoved a palm over his nose, nearly wept with relief when he felt the slow breath against his flesh.

It was the sluggish rasp he first noticed, the flinch of how cold Seto's skin was against his own,

the long, tortured moments before Seto's body bent with the effort to breathe. Fearfully, Mokuba

peered down at Seto, and frantically pawed at his brother, heedless of the rattled teeth, or how

harsh his fear made his actions. Seto's eyes finally slid open, hazy and dim,and he only stared at Mokuba, glazed and unfocused, and...completely unaware of his brother's presence.

"Seto?" Mokuba said his name softly, hoping to prompt some sort of response from Seto.

With the monumental effort that Mokuba was never aware of, Seto finally dragged himself back from the depths of his own departure long enough to linger and comfort.

"Mokuba." Seto rasped out the name, as his hadn slowly crawled up and clenched Mokuba's. Worriedly,

Mokuba grimaced at how cold Seto's hand felt, almost as if he were holding the hand of a corpse..

"Little brother." Mokuba stared down at him, shivering as Seto closed his eyes, and whispered with all the finality of his impending demise, "I won't be here at the end of the night.Mokuba, I love you."

Mokuba's tears rose in the sudden torture of the understanding, as Seto helplessly smoothed away his black hair from his face, gave him a kind smile. "It's alright, Mokuba. This was going to happen eveuntally, don't you remember that?"

It had been a bitter slide,a gradual decline that had suddenly developed into an allout plunge.

To hear those dreaded words falling from his own brother's mouth only froze everything inside, as Mokuba only sat by Seto, torpid, blinking, not breathing, not understanding anything beyond the ice that had filled everything, and the heat that was burning his tormented instincts.

Nearly a year of knowing, and suffering, and horrible anticipation had done nothing to prepare him for _this._ Of all the lonely nights of the hospitalization, and the treatment, consulting with doctors and pleading and praying, and now all of that was crashing down into one quiet moment of Seto's departure. It was sadistic, the severing of an existance, the finale broken off, and Seto's exit all the more vicious in how quickly it had come to be.

And now...Seto's strength was faltering miserably, and it took nearly every bit of his reserves to even say Mokuba's name loud enough to pull him back into this moment and away from that drowning sea of despair. Gritting his teeth, Seto jabbed his finger towards the cell phone beside his bed, and heaved out, "Mokuba, please call Yami. Tell him to come,_now."_

_Yami was still befuddled by sleep, as the piercing ring of the phone hit him with the force of a slap. Irritably, he snatched up the reciever and held it to his ear before it could disturb Yugi or Solomon. "Moto residence." He barked out, yawning. When he heard Mokuba's sob, he clenched the reciever, shuddering. "Mokuba? What-" _

_"Yami, it's Seto. He...he doesn't have long, and he asked me to call you. Yami? Please come here, as quickly as you can. I...I can't handle being here alone, and Seto needs to-"_

_Yami had not even bothered to hang up the phone as he shot out the door.Trembling, tears, and memories, of their loathing for each other in the beginning, the guarded conversations, and then the friendship that had grown between them. The hesitant way that Seto had so uneasily let Yami into his life, the suprising kindness and that sarcastic wit against everything else. That faith in so much loss, that unwavering love of his little brother, all ending in a few hours. Yami bolted towards the looming mansion, his breath hitching in his lungs from the bolting drive over, the mad race out the door, literally against time itself. It hurt Yami when he had the sick realization that knowing that Seto was eventually going to die had absolutely no way of making it more believable, or easy now._

_Striding forward, his knuckles brushed over the polished door, then thundered as he pounded the aggitated fist against the wood, fighting the urge to kick it down if it stood in his way. It was _

_abruptly opened by the wan, haggard face of Rolland, as he slid the door open, to allow Yami entrance. Yami gave him a curt, polite nod, did not answer the polite greeting, only turned those sharp eyes to Rolland, and nearly choked on the question. "Where is Seto?"_

_Silently, Rolland shook his head, the tears rising in his eyes as he beckoned Yami to follow him upward to the spiraling stairwell, past all of the rooms, past all the memories and past everything Yami had come to know. Rolland only opened Seto's door with a sad shake of his head, and stepped away to let Yami in. Lingering, he lay a hand on Yami's shoulder, and whispered, "I'm sorry, young man. I'm so sorry." Wiping a tear, Rolland turned away, and Yami was left alone._

And there, swathed like a revered god in the white sheets, lay Seto. His eyes were closed, his breathing harsh. The only sounds in the room were Mokuba's hitching sobs, and the hiss of the oxygen prongs. Seto lay propped on a pillow, his bed cranked until he was nearly sitting upright.Yami was cringing inwardly at the wilting neck, and the bittersweet anguish of seeing that proud head so bowed against the wait.

Seto's skin burned white, the thin laticework of blue veins perversely bright against the wan flesh. Mercifully, he was clad in his favorite sweater, and draped in that beloved velour blanket. Mokuba had done a masterful job of ochrestrating Seto's last moments as closely as he could to what Seto wished, and it showed from the peaceful smile on Seto's face.

Yami bit back the cry of realization of how much dying had already taken from his friend.

Mokuba lifted his head over his shoulder, saw Yami, and tilted his head in invitation. He did not rise, nor did he let go of Seto's hand.

Yami did not bother to stop the slow leak of tears, as Mokuba whispered, "Thank you so much for coming, Yami. It means a lot...to both of us." From that haunted look, to the wan greeting, and the trembling lurch as Mokuba rose to his feet, Yami could see that the younger Kaiba had literally stayed all night at his brother's side to keep his lonely watch.

"Seto at least deserves that much from me, Mokuba." Yami whispered, as Seto stirred at last, and opened his distant azure eyes in their clouded gaze to Yami. Squinting, Seto's lip twisted between his teeth in a grimace of pain, before he finally rasped out, "Yami?"

Seto turned his face towards Yami, swallowed hard. And then, Seto gave Yami the brightest smirk he could manage behind the oxygen prongs and the sheer exhaustion.

"It's not the exit that I hoped for, Yami. But it's a lot better than the one you stopped me from taking too early."

Yami smirked through his tears, as he shook his head. "Glad to be of service, Seto."

'Really? I'm not just a dying pain in the ass?" The coy question was harsh from his gasping breath, but Yami made no attempt to shush him now.

"No."Yami whispered, in bittersweet, nearly sobbing laughter. "You're a dying pain in the ass who happens to be...a friend."

Seto weakly flung his hand up, his thumb jutting, and trembling. "Yay. I'm glad that I've finally done something with my life."

"More good than you know." Yami whispered softly, not bothering to stop the tears that were trickling down

his cheeks, as he just shook his head at seeing Seto restored.

"I guess now is the time where I say some poetic last words, while I can." Seto snickered weakly, before Yami felt his fingers on his arm.

"Write them down for history's sake,Yami. This should be damn good." Seto smirked, again, as he gripped Mokuba's hand harder.

"Tell them that I had it good. That I had a damn good little brother, that I was rich, and never backed down, and I almost didn't learn how not to be an asshole until it nearly cost me everything worth keeping.Tell them that I died in more peace than I ever had in life, and I wasn't ashamed of that. Tell them that I found my way, by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth, and most of all..that it was worth it."

The words cost him dearly, as Seto bit back a groan of pain, panting as his fists tightened in Mokuba's clinging, anchoring hands.

"Seto?" Mokuba's tortured question forced Seto to pry his eyes open, and he slowly relaxed when the agony slacked its ebbing grip as abruptly as it came. He could feel himself fading, but, now...so was the pain.

With a soft sigh of relief, Seto's body unclenched, and slid in grateful release, as Seto gave Mokuba a small smile of reassurance. "It...doesn't hurt, Mokuba." Mokuba felt Seto's finger tighten in his own,as he opened his azure eyes again. Mokuba started openly sobbing, as he gathered Seto up in his arms, winced at how fragile even his bones felt against the solid, healthy living muscle that Mokuba never noticed before.Seto felt the hot wet of Mokuba's tears, saw them shimmer in the depths of those night-hued eyes, cupped one of those precious drops in his quaking finger, watched it shine as it trailed over his knuckles. He heard the sobbing, felt his gut

clench in anguish at its cause, and his helplessness for only one tortured moment, until Mokuba only gave him that radiating smile of understanding, brushed his black bangs and tears away as he reached down to cradle Seto against him.

"_Please, let me hold him one more time. Let me give him that last gift." _Seto prayed, as he winced and tried to lift his arms, but found he could not.

_"As I have held you both through this, so I shall help you hold him now." _Seto felt the reassurance trickling over the pain as it gently wove through his core and lingered as kind as an old friend. And, though unseen by Yami and Mokuba, Seto watched as Hands encircled his own. Seto's arms fell like wings over the bent shoulders, gliding over Mokuba's tremoring back, in that old gesture of

brotherly protection as Mokuba sank into the embrace, surrendering with a bowed head and whispering Seto's name.

Seto both held him and let him go, in that moment. Held him with all the promise of the future, held him with the strength Seto had gifted him with, held him for all the years that Mokuba might make his years through the world with Seto's example and memories to guide him home again. And, with the next breath, he let him go. Let Mokuba go to wherever his heart dictated, to live a life as

huge as his dreams would allow, let Mokuba forge his own way instead of forever living under the shadow of being a Kaiba. Seto let him go to be...free.

Breath, so harsh to keep and suddenly so unncessarily as Seto's flesh finally yielded itself, and he shed his body with one liberating shrug. Mortality had finally met the eternity that he had longed for. And Seto could only shiver in awe at the suddeness of the change. It was as if he were a drowning man who had finally discovered the air. Or a shattered piece of star that had finally

discovered the sky. Seto felt the year of tortured ache, and suffering fall away from his existance as if it never were there at all. Tears and scars and the dull, surrendering grind of the days faded. The forced, broken surrender to flesh and disease and death ended with the arch of heaven's mercy radiating through his core and engulfing whatever misery could still wound.

_"Do not fear leaving him, Seto. You will see him again." _

"Will he be alright without me?"

Seto could not help but cringe at what sort of reaction that questioning the Almighty would garner, but he was mercifully relieved with the warm, understanding chuckle, and the kindly reassurance_,"Fear not, Seto. In the life you lived, you found that faith, hope and love remain forever. And the greatest thing you gave your brother is love. I will not leave your brother to face life alone."_

Seto could only nod, whisper, "Thank you." Whatever remained of Seto's fear was mercifully swept away by the wry chuckle of joyful mirth as the Voice commented, "Besides, your brother is a Kaiba. Does that not reassure you, Seto?"

Seto could not help the smirk that haloed his face, before he turned back to gaze at his brother still holding his limp,still body. And Seto was awed to see tears trickling down Yami's face as he soothed Mokuba, softly. "Yami." Seto spoke his name, and was suprised to see Yami's head lurch upward from Mokuba's shoulder, and peer with a knowing smile into the shadows of the gloaming light. Yami may have indeed known that he was staring at Seto as he raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, as his words rose for only Seto to hear.

"May you find your peace, my friend. And may you know how much it was worth it to me as well."

Somehow, Yami felt the tears on his face lessen a bit when he heard the echo of Seto's merry laughter for an odd moment or two.Yami tilted his head, straining to hear,and Seto gawked as Yami only nodded and smiled to himself. "Worth it, Seto."

Seto lingered, for one last moment, one last look, as his unseen hand caressed Mokuba's shoulder with every fierce bit of love and sorrow and that could be conveyed in the parting. Mokuba wiped his tears, slid one hand over his shoulder,left it there, as he felt his brother's unseen arms around him, for the last time. Smiling through his tears, Mokuba cupped the locket that held his brother's picture, felt the grief slacken a bit when he palmed it to his heart. "I love you, big brother. I love you

so much."

And somehow, Mokuba heard Seto's soft voice over the distance of time and suffering answer back, softly, "I love you, too, Mokuba."

Seto felt the timid, considering hands gliding over and down his shoulders, meeting at the small of his back and draping his face in the familiar warmth of Mokuba's quivering shoulder.

Quivering arms, pale, and blue-veined, and only a memory of being tan, and muscled rose like wings over Mokuba, engulfing him, steadying him...loving him, and saying farewell in a way that words never would.

Mokuba felt Seto's tear against his cheek, heard the inhaling breath against his ear, almost loud in the sacred hush that had fallen between them.

Seto's voice was choked with the cost of speaking, harsh against the clenched jaws, the last act of defiance against the inevitable, but unmistakably tinged with peaceful acceptance.

"It was worth it. You were worth it, little brother."

Mokuba felt the familar slender fingers arching their trail through his hair. It was the one gesture that Seto always did to comfort him. Reaching upwards, Mokuba gently intwined his fingers with Seto's, and held him against him.

"I love you so much, big brother. And I'm so proud of you." He carefully surrendered Seto's body back to the waiting sheets, and watched as Seto groaned softly, his lips twisting. Seto still kept his grip on Mokuba's hand, and Mokuba's shining eyes fell on their interlocking fingers, Seto's long, slender fingers still engulfing his own dark ones. It was a symbol of how their time and days had become so interwoven, how love withstood all the storms, and now, with one departing, still remained strong. Still...Mokuba thought, the realization, and the reassurance trickling through his shattering heart with healing grace. It was a gift from heaven, this awareness of the truth,and the strength for Mokuba to finally give Seto what he needed the most, right now.

"Seto." Mokuba choked his name through the tears, as he forced the words out. "I'm going to be alright, big brother. You've given me the strength to know that now. You can let go, Seto. It's alright."

Seto opened his eyes for the last time, his eyes lit with the peace not found on this side of the sky, in contrast of his wan skin, and his torpid body. Mokuba and Yami both gasped to see the

sheer life that was burning in their depths, as the peaceful smile of surrender settled itself on Seto's mouth.

Heaven itself seemed to be radiating from the azure haze that filled his eyes with something more profound than pain or tears. Mokuba would always remember that moment, and it gave him solace during the dark and lonely years that followed.

Mokuba felt Seto's hand in his own tighten its grip, and then, the slow surrender as his hand grew slack, and

silently fell limp against the sheets.

Mokuba felt Seto's body quiver as his chest drew in three shaking breaths, felt them exhaled in a harsh, relieved gasp, as Seto's last words floated to fill the silence..

"Worth it...Mokuba."

From the sudden, profound, loud disbelief, the sacred weight of all its death and its passage, Mokuba felt to the core of his soul, Seto's spirit lingering, filling the room, as it left its mortal confines, and rejoiced in being free at last.

Yami knew from the both the relaxing of Seto's body, to the deep, cleansing sigh that escaped his lips for the last time, that Seto had died. Or, perhaps more appropriately, Mokuba's sacred, reverent whisper to Yami, "Seto's gone home. He's free."

Yami only nodded in tears.

There, in the elaborate casket, propped up on a white silk pillow, so serene, and so still, lay the earthly remains of Seto Kaiba. His sharp, angular features were at rest, the mouth drawn up in a relaxed smile, the gentle peace settling on his remains like a blanket. Mokuba had asked that his brother's body be clad in his favorite outfit, the white coat with all its buckles at the sleeves, and the impressive flare at his hips. The long-sleeved dark shirt, and finally, the small, silver card-shaped medalian that bore Mokuba's picture with a promise of Seto's protection.

Mokuba smiled at the memory of Seto's presentation of the necklace, the awkward, embarrassed flush of his cheeks as he almost shyly called Mokuba into his office unexpectantly. They had a very trying time with each other as of late, Mokuba's burgenoning need for independence clashing sharply with Seto's terror of not being able to protect his younger sibling, and only family left from the onslaught of the world he experienced. Mokuba slank in, his lips curling into a begruging pout, granting his brother an extremely relunctant audience in all his teen-age show of nastiness.

"What?!" The irritated question was squawked out at Seto, who sat, looking uncertain, and wounded, before his face hardened.

"I know that things haven't been easy between us, Mokuba, and I know that you feel like I'm trying to keep you trapped here..." Seto's paternal speech came to an end with Mokuba's biting eyeroll.

There was only a hurt sigh from Seto, as he almost timidly shoved the glittering necklace forward, and looked away. "This is for you. I don't know what teenagers wear nowadays, so I'll understand if you hate it..."

Mokuba gave Seto a dubious glare through the dark fluff of his bangs, before he scraped the necklace off the table. "Thanks." He whispered, with an uncomfortable shrug.

"You're not under any obligation to wear the damn thing, Mokuba." Seto's harsh words were cut off as

Mokuba opened the tiny clasp, and openly gaped at the picture. It was taken of both of them, in their younger years, back when Seto was roughly the size he was now, and still wore those pristine sweaters that Gozaburo always forced him to wear. Seto's arm was draped over Mokuba's shoulders in a protective gesture, and Mokuba's chubby little arms were flung over his big brother's neck in a fierce embrace, the bright smile radiating from him, complete with gap-toothed inocence, and eyes filled with pride and love shimmeering up at his big brother.

Seto's gut clenched in humilation, as he saw Mokuba's eyes widen, and then suddenly fly up to meet his own. What he wasn't expecting was to see tears welling up in the dark eyes, or the sudden feeling of arms

around his neck, as Mokuba sobbed.

"Mokuba, what-" Seto was unable to finish as Mokuba only shook his head, coiled up tighter around him, and continued his crying into his shoulder. Seto honestly did not know what to do. Damn it, he had tried so hard to raise Mokuba the best he knew, and it seemed that he was every bit the failure that Gozaburo convinced him of...

Seto shivered, thumped Mokuba on the back uncomfortably, but this was clearly not working. With an awkward sigh, Seto hesitantly draped both arms over Mokuba's quivering back in a timid embrace, and was rewarded by Mokuba's tightening arms.

"I love you, Seto, and I'm sorry." Mokuba's voice was muffled by the sobs and his mouth being against Seto's shoulder.

Seto only embraced him in return with a whispered, "It's alright, Mokuba. I promised you once I was always going to be there for you. I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that."

The words, ressurrected from the memory lingered in the deepening void of his heart, spanned the distance of eternity, reverberated the promise that Seto had fought so hard to keep. They lingered in Mokuba's breaking heart, seared down, cutting deeper than any blade ever could, but leaving the ache of solace instead of the overwhelming grief. For one moment, Mokuba was certain he felt the embrace of solid arms, steady in their grip across his spine, cradling him...giving him strength and warmth instead of the tortured prospect of facing a lifetime without his brother at his side.

Mokuba's hand cradled the locket in one hand, as the other swiped along his cheekbone to brush away a tear, from grief that cut so deeply because it was so etched in love. Of a heart breaking because it was worth being broken to be Seto Kaiba's sibling.

Mokuba whispered softly..."Wait for me, big brother. It's worth it."

The span of 46 years had passed remarkably fast, but Mokuba Kaiba felt every bit the age of seventy as he lay staring idly at the shadow's passing of the dark limbs outside. He had lived a good life, and was ready to let go. His eyes drifted to the wall of gold plaques, with his name emblazoned on each. A few were civic awards, but most were

And, because of him, and indirectly, the huge slush fund of KaibaCorps, there had been a surge of progress made towards eradicating the cruel disease that took his older brother from him so long ago. It was no longer a death sentence, but a treatable disorder that gave years to lives that were condemned, and the future that Seto had been robbed of. It was a bittersweet tribute to the Kaiba drive and grit, that drove Mokuba on with the same characteristic fire that his brother had burned so brightly during his life. It was fitting and right that none of the pain be wasted, or the wisdom squandered. Seto would have been pleased to know that KaibaCorps had developed from being just a company dedicated to making toys and distractions to a powerhouse of hope in that fight. Mokuba himself, in the later years, had demonstrated the Kaiba gift of having more than one talent,still remaining CEO of KaibaCorps, but pursuing a master's, then a postdoctorate degree in chemisty, then bio-pharmacuticuls. He himself had devoted much of his time to research, driven on for the love of his brother, and he was very successful.

The passage of years had not gone unnoticed, or unmarked. Mokuba's hair had lost its characteristic black fluff, and had turned a dignified silver over the years, though he retained his sparkling black eyes, and his gently gruff voice.

The beloved Mokuba Kaiba had drifted away, peacefully in his sleep. The press noted that he had passed away with a smile on his face, and a hand curled reverently around a battered locket that contained the faded picture of two smiling boys, staring uncertainly at a tormenting future, one of them, with burning blue eyes, and arms protectively curled over the shoulders of the younger one. The younger one had his arms wrapped in a fierce embrace around the older one, with a toothy grin that came secure in knowing that his big brother was near by, and it was going to be alright.

Epilogue...

"SETO!!" The boyish shriek exploded from amazement, as Seto glided out of the shadows, his beloved face still curled with that characteristic smirk, and his azure eyes glimmering. Seto's smirk transformed into a beaming smile, as he stooped to peer into Mokuba's eyes.

"Mokuba." His voice, though not heard for a few decades, maintained that familiar silken roughness, as Seto

opened his arms wide, welcoming as the gates of Heaven themselves, as Mokuba flung himself into the embrace.

"Big brother, I missed you so much!" Mokuba nearly sobbed, as he only squirmed into the embrace tighter against Seto's gentle removal of the iron grip that now held his torso. Seto's arms, so strong, and familiar,

wrapped his brother up, and held him, like they did so long ago, as the two Kaibas were united for the first time in a span of nearly 5 decades.

Seto grunted, and Mokuba abruptly dropped his grip in alarm. Such a gesture of squeezing his older brother would have caused agony when he had the cancer.

"Seto? Did I hurt y-"

Seto scowled, sharply, but then gave him a tolerant grin, shook his head in dismissal, and raised that eyebrow again, wryly. "Mokuba." He began with infinite patience, as he gestured to the stunning bueaty around them.

"We're not bound by the same suffering we had on earth, little brother. It's hardly that way here. Now, I get it all, but then..." He whispered bluntly. "You know...with God? It wouldn't be much of a heaven if I still had my cancer, now would it? Now, little brother, I want you to know how proud of you I am for giving other people the years I didn't have. You should know, Mokuba...there are thousands of people, that are on earth longer because of your work. You have their gratitude, you know."

Seto only gave Mokuba his belovedly familiar smirk, with the same tilt of his head. "We have a long time to discuss that, little brother. Believe me, Mokuba...we definitely have the time now.


End file.
